Nothing Breaks
by Trevlik65
Summary: Following the aftermath of the failed assassination attempt on the King, Athos, rejected by his Majesty as a Musketeer, leaves Paris behind. There is something he must see, something he should have done long ago, perhaps then, he can return to Paris and attempt to form a new life. Whether that life will include the Musketeers, only fate will decide.
1. Chapter 1

**Nothing Breaks… Chapter 1**

Christmas had come and gone, New Year too. Life at the garrison went on as normal, only now normal didn't seem quite enough, not for Aramis. He and Porthos still drank, laughed, did all the things they had done before, but in the quiet of his own room, at night, the Musketeer would often shed a tear for their missing friend. Porthos said little; Aramis could sense the big man was as desolate as he, but he hid it behind his anger. Once they realised Athos was not returning, Porthos had forbidden Aramis from mentioning his name. Still, every time a horse galloped through the arch Aramis looked, and his heart broke a little more each time he realised it was not him. Treville, too, often looked toward the garrison entrance, though under the pretence of watching the men spar.

Morning tasks had been distributed, and Aramis and Porthos had pulled armoury duty. They cleaned and checked pistols whilst Aramis hummed to himself, enjoying the mundane activity – unlike Porthos, who hated such prolonged periods of inactivity. It was warm in the dim room and the gun oil made for a heady atmosphere.

'Porthos! Aramis!' The shout cut across the open courtyard space and reached into the quiet armoury – no need to question who the authoritative voice belonged to.

'Treville,' the two men replied in unison. They replaced the weapons and stepped out into the bright light of the winter morning. There had been little snow since Christmas, but the temperature had never quite risen high enough to prevent ice from forming on the water trough each morning during the weeks that followed. Now February was almost over, the weather had grown warmer, the weak sun promising to revisit the memory of warm spring days, but today was not one of them.

They looked toward the balcony, to see the scowling figure of Treville, his eyes searching the garrison. He was about to yell again, when he saw the two Musketeers heading his way.

'My office,' was all he said, before disappearing inside. The two men looked at each other.

'Do you think he knows about the other night?' Aramis asked the big man.

'Nah, it was nothin'. No one was hurt, just a little excitement at the end of a long day.' The two men considered the fight two days ago in The Wren. Aramis nodded.

'You are right, there was not much blood, and we paid for the broken table.' Porthos nodded, smiling in agreement. Still, the two men thought it best to begin piecing together a story as they headed up the steps, just in case.

They knocked upon the door and waited for the usual command. 'Come.' Smiling at each other, the two men entered.

Treville stood behind his desk, looking as fraught as usual. It had been relatively quiet over the festive period – Richelieu had kept his head down following the Captain's parting shot during their last encounter. However, he could not be sure just how much the Musketeer Captain knew concerning his infantile plot to secure Rochefort in the good graces of the Spanish party. But the identification of Edward Boudain, now that had shaken him, and so, for now, he was behaving himself, or at least plotting quietly.

'Gentlemen, the King wishes to see me. Somehow I get the feeling he has a new scheme in mind, and after the last one, I cannot say I am too thrilled at the idea. I want you two with me. Someone else can take over whatever it was you were doing. We leave at once.' Dismissed, the two men hurried from the room and collected their cloaks. The King liked to see his Musketeers in full dress, as he liked to think they looked far better than the Cardinal's guards. Which of course they did.

It was not as if the three of them ever spent much time together socialising, but when Treville and the two men did find themselves riding through Paris, Athos was the subject that hung in the air between them. This morning, Porthos rode behind, and Aramis decided he could risk a question without his friend hearing.

'Have you heard anything?' He did not add to what he was referring, he knew Treville would know. The Captain sighed and looked into the hopeful face of the Musketeer.

'No, nothing. But then I do not expect to. If Athos wishes to return, he knows where to find us. It must be his choice, Aramis.' He noted the crestfallen expression on the young man's face. 'Give him time. It has not been long, he may have other matters he needed to attend to. He may still be back.' He smiled at the soldier, but Aramis did not hear the ring of sincerity he was looking for in the Captain's words.

oOo

Athos had not taken the direct route through the village, as he hoped to complete his task without anyone ever knowing he had been there. The sun was slanting through the tall trees, as he slid from his horse, causing small lights to dance over the grass as it played through the early, spring leaves. The spot was on a small hill, far from the village. It was ironic that from here he could clearly see the bare branches of the tree from which she had hung. If he closed his eyes, it was an image he could recall only too clearly, seared into his memory for all time. Shaking off the sudden chill that came over him, he tried to ignore the sensation that he was being watched.

Athos tethered Roger to a bench – a small token he had provided for the elderly who found the hill taxing on a Sunday, when attending church. Apart from the horse champing at the grass, and the whistling birds in the trees, it was silent, and even the breeze had ceased to blow. For a moment, he took in the peace and solitude of the spot. There was a lot to be said for a churchyard, it was always quiet and peaceful. He had often sneaked into the lych-gate as a child, and sat upon the bench with a book. The old priest would bring him out a cool glass of something to drink and his plump wife would make him biscuits. That was until his father had discovered his hiding place… the rest was history. No more biscuits in the silence of the churchyard, and what ever happened to the priest and his wife he never found out. Another parish he supposed, his father would have seen to that.

The resting place of the dead was the one spot, even in the heart of Paris, where one could be alone, if ever one were ever truly alone with the dead. But at least they were silent. Only at night, in his dreams, did they scream and cry his name, demanding he give them a voice.

He wound his way through the small stones, until he found the family plot. The large mausoleum stood on the De la Fère estate. There his ancestors lay on their cold, stone shelves taking their eternal rest. Only those lucky enough to be deemed less important spent eternity beneath the green grass, warmed by the soft sunlight, unaware of their fortune, compared to the cold, dark tomb that tortured the remains of their _betters_.

Here, favourite family retainers were laid to rest, cousins, those whose names no one remembered. He traced the name of one such stone. _Phillipe Geroux_. His first sword master. He remembered the man well. He smiled to himself, he reminded him a little of Aramis – always well-groomed, a ready smile and an eye for the ladies of the household. He had been a good swordsman, and he had taught the young boy well. A winter cold had taken the man far too young, and the young vicomte had wept until his father had forbidden it. Weeping was for women, he had said and, even then, not for the likes of Geroux. Still, the man had been granted a place in the churchyard, which was no mean achievement. From then on, no sword master ever lasted long enough to die in service. His father saw to that.

Athos moved from one stone to the other, not sure what he expected to find. As his wife, she should have had a place in that cold, dark place with the rest of the family, but he could not let that happen. How could his brother's body lie next to the woman who had taken his life?

Neither should she have been buried in hallowed ground, but he had not had the strength left to deny her this. He could not have her buried by a roadside, for ever to wander between this world and the next. Though he had no belief anymore, neither was he superstitious. Still, recent events had dictated he finally visit this spot. He needed to see it for himself.

He had paid René to have her buried quietly in the family corner. He had the man left money and instructions, for he did not wish any part of the ritual. He was not proud of his decision – one more failure, leaving someone else to deal with her remains. He had wandered between the stones for some time, and the sun was slanting long shadows across the soft grass, the light more golden now than when he had arrived. He leant against a tall cross and sighed deeply. Perhaps there had never been a stone. Perhaps to be inside the walls of the cemetery had been enough. He could have found René and asked, but he could not bring himself to do that, not after all this time.

He was about to turn away, leaving the inhabitants to their quiet slumber, when something caught his eye. Off to one side, there was a small mound, a simple cross marked the spot; no fancy stone, or guardian angel, just a simple white wooden cross, but the earth was covered in small leaves, soft green leaves, with the finest traces of hair on their small fronds. His heart beat more rapidly, and he found himself walking closer. He knew the plant well, it was small now, but in a few weeks the grave would be covered in the tiniest blue flowers. This had to be it. He knelt on the soft grass, the earth beneath submitting to his weight. Brushing the vines and dirt away from the small marker, beneath his fingers he felt the crude letters, carved into the wood. _AF – 1625 RIP._

His heart hitched. So, it had been done. He had begun to wonder. Had begun to consider somehow, if she had survived. The jasmine, the touch. Now he had found her resting place, and he didn't know whether he was relieved, or destroyed all over again. _Repose en Paix_. Did she? He had evidence to prove she did not, but then why would she?

He made his way back to his horse, laying his head against the reassuring warmth of the animal's neck. He mounted up and rode away. As he rode past, Athos tried hard not to look at the bear bare branches, swaying gently in the breeze. But the tree called out to him and he halted the horse. There it stood, just as it had almost a year ago today. He could see it so clearly – would that image never fade? The faces of his father and his mother seemed so dim and vague now, and even Thomas' gentle smile had to be wrenched from his memory, lest he forget. But this – her smile, her touch, her body hanging motionless from the branch of a tree. They were as vivid and as colourful as if it were yesterday; how he wished they would fade, as everything else had faded. Or was it his punishment to see it all so clearly, so raw, for the rest of his days? He ran his hands over his eyes, hoping that when he looked again it would all be gone.

Holding tight to the reins, he spurred Roger forward, giving the horse his head, riding over his land as if the entirety of hell were riding behind him. He rode hard, until Roger wheezed for breath, sweat and flecks of foam flanking the horse's mouth; so hard that the tears were blown from his eyes before they had chance to fall. When horse and rider could go no further, he sank against the coarse mane and gasped for breath. As man and beast were calmed, he slid from the animal's back, leading him over to a small stream to drink.

He had not thought beyond this moment. Since he had left Paris, he had been driven, first by the visit to the Duchess, and then to return home, to find _her_. Now they were done. What was he to do now?

oOo

Treville and the two Musketeers reached the throne room and walked toward the King. He was consulting some papers with the Cardinal, but smiled brightly when he saw Treville – always a good sign.

'Treville, here you are, excellent. The Cardinal and I were just discussing you, were we not Cardinal?'

'Indeed, we were Sire,' the Cardinal simpered. 'And here you are Captain, most fortuitous.' The grin he gave Treville put paid to any confidence the King's welcome may have inspired. He knew something, and he also knew Treville was not going to be happy about it.

'You sent for me Your Majesty,' Treville acknowledged. For a second the King's smile faltered. Aramis felt for his superior. All the years he had attended his monarch, day in day out, he had still never managed to adopt that ingratiating air needed by any successful diplomat when dealing with the King. Treville still held onto that no-nonsense approach which made him an excellent soldier but a terrible politician.

'Now, Treville, I will not have you spoiling my idea. I have made up my mind and I simply need you to make it happen.' He smiled broadly once more and Treville's heart sank. Please, God, let it not be another party.

'I will do my best, Sire. What is it you wish me to do?' The King clapped his hands and looked from the Cardinal to his Captain.

'We are going on a trip, Treville. Myself, my wife, the Cardinal, and one or two others. We have been inside for too long, and I wish to see what is happening outside my doors.' Treville looked taken aback. He glanced at the Cardinal, and the man's frozen smile told him that he, too, was less than happy with the news.

'A trip, Sire? Forgive me, I am not sure I understand.' Treville attempted to keep an expression of mild surprise fixed to his face when, in reality, he wanted to rant and scream. God only knew who had put this latest madness into the gullible monarch's head.

'I told you he would be surprised, Cardinal,' the King giggled. Richelieu raised his eyes to heaven, as if praying for patience.

'You did, Sire. And I think it is safe to say you were correct.' He looked at Treville, his eyes almost pleading with the man to say something.

'Well, Captain, after the trouble with my brother, there were whisperings you understand, you know how gossip spreads. I even had a letter from a member of the family offering their sympathy, after my terrible accident. Sympathy, I ask you, Captain, rumours of the King of France having a terrible accident. I considered another party, did I not, Cardinal?'

Richelieu visibly paled before he replied. 'Indeed you did, Sire, but we decided, did we not, that something more _personal_ would be better. I recommended individual invitations, but Your Majesty had ideas of his own.' He eyed Treville, making it quite clear that he had not encouraged this latest lunacy.

'Of course I did, Cardinal. I am the King, I have marvellous ideas.' He was still grinning broadly, but could see that his Captain was still in the dark.

'You see, Treville, the Cardinal pointed out that a party would be expensive. After all, last time I had to rebuild half the palace, but the least said about that the better. So, why not let other people have the expense – I shall go to them!' He grinned in delight and awaited the Captain's reaction.

'Your Majesty, plans to visit some members of the nobility, to ensure they can see you are well, is that your proposal?' The King almost jumped up and down in his seat.

'Yes, yes, Treville! Some of the pompous fools were probably in league with my idiot brother – won't they squirm when they have to show fealty to their King and pay for it themselves?' Treville had paled. The very thought of ensuring the Monarch's safety for such a journey was already giving him a headache.

'Just how many do you envisage visiting, Sire?' He hardly dared listen to the reply and, when it came, he nearly choked.

'Well, I counted at least ten who were conspicuous in their absence; Interesting do you not think? However, the Cardinal has pointed out that some of them were very old, may even be dead, so I have agreed on five. Won't it be fun?' Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances – five members of the nobility, spread over God knows how many leagues.

'Your Majesty must realise that ensuring your safety on such a trip will be subject to many risks.' Louis pouted.

'You see, Cardinal, I told you Treville would make it sound dreary. Well I am sorry, Captain, but I want my Musketeers. They are my regiment and they will protect me, of that I am sure. To show you I am not at all unreasonable, I will not leave until the end of March. After all, I need to give those lucky enough to entertain their King, sufficient time to prepare – some of these country estates are such dowdy affairs. Now, speak to the Cardinal and he will give you the list. Forgive me, but I need to go and consult on a travelling wardrobe. One must look the part, especially when one wants the nobility to grovel. Good day, Captain.' The King departed, taking his entourage with him, and leaving Treville, Aramis, Porthos and the Cardinal staring at each other in amazement.

For once, Richelieu looked apologetic. 'Do not think I had anything to do with this ridiculous notion, he actually came up with it all by himself. It is madness of course. Giving them time to _prepare_ – plot and unite more like. Still, I suppose we can hope the shock or fear of financial ruin might bring on the odd apoplexy, or encourage them toward suicide. Meanwhile, what do you intend to do about it, Treville?'

The Captain ran his hands through his thinning hair, Aramis was familiar with the gesture, routinely used by their Captain, when he was angry or frustrated, or simply dealing with Athos. The memory made him smile.

'I doubt, at this point, there is anything I _can_ do. Who has he chosen and how long is this trip going last?' Treville asked in frustration.

'He is beginning by retracing the journey Gaston made, stopping at the Château Rambouillet and Château d'Ambois. The whole journey could last for months, dependent upon how long it takes His Majesty to bankrupt each household.' Treville shook his head in disbelief.

'Months then. That is madness.' He looked horrified at the thought.

'Of course, he may get to the first household, hate the food and decide he is coming home. That is the beauty of dealing with our King, you never know what he might do next. Anyway, Treville, I suggest we meet tomorrow, when you have had time to digest the information. I have to admit, for once I am glad this journey is on your shoulders. I almost feel sorry for your men.' With that parting shot, Richelieu left the room, leaving a bewildered Treville alone with the two Musketeers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

It had not been a conscious decision, at least not that he was aware, but then perhaps somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he had allowed his heart to rule his head for once. As the light began to fade, he was again on that same grassy mound, transfixed by Paris in the distance. Where before it had been an anonymous city in which to lose oneself, this time it was not the same. No longer beneath those distant roofs were people without faces, without names; now there were those he cared for and, for reasons he could not quite fathom, cared for him.

He allowed his mind to wander back to the garrison – he would not return. Treville had given him his chance and, despite what had occurred, it had not been enough. He should have known when the Captain offered him the lifeline, that it was not to be. His horse stamped on the ground, eager to move. He, too, was tired and, unlike his master, was ready for food and rest.

Feeling the impatience of his mount beneath him, he gently moved off toward the fading skyline. Though the days were drawing out now, the cloudy afternoon promised an early twilight. Small buds clung to the stark boughs, hoping a sudden frost would not burn them before they could feel the warmth from the spring sunshine. By the time horse and rider reached the first scattering of houses, candles had already begun to burn in the windows. Though not yet dark outside, the small rooms would be dim and depressing without the glow of a lamp at this hour. The amount of people out on the street increased as he rode further into the city; traders making the most of the increased daylight hours, attempting to make that final sale of the day, struggling to sell wares that would be of no use tomorrow.

He was not sure if it was Roger, or he himself, who steered their way towards Monsieur René's; the farrier had looked after Roger well the last time Athos had been alone in the city. Once again, he found himself watching the man busy about his work in the diminishing light. He wasn't sure he could do this again, somehow it was a bitter reminder of all he had lost. Roger sensed the familiar surroundings and tossed his fine head, blowing steam into the cooling air. Yes, it was the best place for his horse.

'Monsieur René.' A cool, confident tone broke the concentration of the older man. Looking up, his face broke into a beam of recognition.

'Monsieur Athos, it is good to see you. Yes, you too, my fine sir,' he addressed Roger, as he stroked the stallion's black nose, the horse recognising the familiar voice.

'May I impose on your hospitality once again?' The farrier gave a sad smile and nodded.

'I did think of letting the stable after you left, it was a good way to earn a little more coin. But I wasn't sure… if you might need it again.' He frowned and gave Athos a searching look. 'I am sorry if things did not work out, son.' He looked genuinely grieved, and Athos nodded.

'I am not sure how long I will stay, but this should cover all you need for a while. The same conditions will apply.' He held out a purse of coins and captured the farrier's gaze until the old man reluctantly nodded his agreement. When René spoke again, he sounded weary.

'Then as last time, your horse will be ready for you when you need him.' The two men shook hands and Athos walked off into the thinning crowd. At least he knew where he was headed for the moment.

oOo

Following their unsettling audience with the King, the three soldiers rode back to the garrison, the King's declaration weighing heavy on their minds.

''E will be a sittin' duck,' Porthos offered, as they rode side-by-side down the busy thoroughfare. Treville nodded.

'Not only that, he will have given them warning this time. His Majesty will expect a certain level of preparation, failing to see that he is also giving his enemies time to prepare rather more than a decent menu,' the Captain added, still furious.

'What can we do?' Aramis asked, Treville shook his head, settling his gaze on the two men beside him.

'Plan, check, and double-check each route. Find out whatever we can about the inhabitants and make sure we are prepared. We can do nothing more.' The three men arrived back at the garrison and Treville marched up to his office, slamming the door behind him.

'Guess he is not happy,' Aramis offered, as he watched the Captain retreat inside his office.

'You're dam right 'e's not. Don't blame 'im either,' Porthos agreed. 'Guess there's no chance of being left behind?' He looked at Aramis with a wry expression.

'Now why would you want to do that?' The marksman grinned. 'Think of all the excitement you would be missing. And if you are really lucky you might get to knock Gaston on his royal, conniving backside, like Ath….' He stopped in mid-sentence, seeing his friend's face darken. Aramis' mood instantly deflated, and his smile vanished. 'I am sorry, mon ami, I did not think.' Porthos continued to scowl, but he accepted Aramis' apology with a nod of his head.

'It doesn't have to be this way you know,' Aramis offered quietly. 'He isn't dead!' Porthos scowled at his friend.

''E may as well be,' he growled, and began to walk away. Aramis grabbed his arm, tired of avoiding Athos' name.

'Why? Why does it have to be like this? Can't you see it from his point of view?' Porthos wheeled round.

'No, I can't. I keep seein' 'im all those times we had to carry 'im back here, bloodied and broken. All those times we sat by 'is bed, waitin', prayin' 'e would live. Then 'e just upped and left, no goodbye, no nothin'. That's why it has to be this way. I thought we were getting somewhere with 'im, but I was wrong. 'E didn't care at all.' With that, he pulled his arm from his friend's grasp and strode off toward the refectory.

Aramis understood that Athos had not left because he did not care, he had left because he had begun to care too much. After Porthos had gone, he remained in the garrison courtyard, suddenly tired. The light was beginning to fade, and it felt like the end of a taxing day. No longer did an evening at The Wren hold any appeal – he would retire and read the book his friend had left him.

Porthos sat alone playing with his stew, it was almost unheard of for the big Musketeer not to spoon it down, as though afraid someone was waiting to spirit it away; he had suffered too many years of uncertainty, not knowing where, or when his next meal would be coming from.

'Sumthin up with my stew?' Serge asked, tidying the table. Porthos lifted his head and smiled at the old cook.

'Nah, it's just fine Serge, just got things on my mind, that's all.' The old man nodded.

'Must be bad if you aint eatin',' the cook added sagely. Porthos nodded, but still played with his food.

'Seems to me, things haven't been quite the same around here since your young friend left. I never got a chance to know him well, but he made quite an impression on Treville, and the young cadets still talk about him like he was pretty special. He had a way with 'em, made 'em feel important – unlike that toad Deveaux!' He spat out the man's name, never one to mince his words. Porthos clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to speak what was on his mind.

''E never said goodbye, Serge, why did 'e do that?' He looked over at the old man, who now took a seat by his side.

'Perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps he knew you wouldn't let him go.' He watched as the big man struggled with his emotions.

'We wouldn't 'av. There was no need for 'im to go. 'E had a place here, 'e knew that.' Serge shook his head.

'He may have been a good sword master, but you and I both know it would not have been enough. We all saw the way he fought that last time. Treville wanted that boy with a pauldron on his arm. He saw something in him, something more than a swordsman, more than a soldier. But the boy came from a dark place. Whatever haunted him, and you can be sure something did, he wasn't going to sit back and watch you and Aramis ride out side-by-side, whilst he adjusted footwork and swordplay all day. It would have slowly killed him. Now you need to stop being angry with him, because wherever he is, he probably feels a lot worse than you. You have Treville, Aramis and the rest of the regiment, but what has he got now, without you?' Porthos looked at the old man as his wise words sunk in, realising the validity of his opinion.

oOo

It had been a complete coincidence, seeing him ride into the city as the day drew to a close. About the Cardinal's business, she moved through the crowd, cold and invisible. The cart pulled to one side in order to allow horse and rider to pass. As she stood in the doorway, she observed the lone rider, up straight on the black horse as he rode by. Her heartbeat increased. So, he had returned.

When she had learnt of his departure, she had been disappointed. She told herself she had lost the opportunity for revenge she had sought for so long, but in reality, it had been more than that. As she had gone about her life in the underbelly of the city, she no longer turned at the sound of a horse's steady rhythm, and she no longer caught her breath in her throat at the sight of man she thought was him.

Her feet hurried through the crowd, hood pulled over her features. He was easy to follow, as he rode slowly along the road, no sign of urgency in his demeanour. She was surprised when he stopped before the farrier's but, as she observed the transaction from a distance, it became obvious it was not the first time they had met. Waiting until they had finished whatever business had been transacted, she watched Athos head for The Red Barrell and smiled. No need to worry where he would be for the next few hours. Pulling down her hood, and rearranging her features into a smile. She approached Monsieur René as he began to lead Athos' horse away.

'Forgive me, Monsieur, for interrupting your work, but I could not help but observe this fine horse. I do not suppose he is for sale?' Roger pawed at the ground, as if aware of the closeness of his master's nemesis. The farrier smiled at the beautiful woman standing before him. Chuckling, he shook his head and replied:

'I am afraid not, Madame. My fine friend here stays with me whilst his master has business in town. We are old friends, are we not, Roger?' She smiled and gave a tinkling laugh.

'Roger, what a strange name for a horse.' She attempted to stroke the animal's soft nose, but the horse whinnied and shied away. Her eyes narrowed. 'A spirited animal, perhaps he would not have been suitable for me after all.' If there were more behind the comment, it was lost on the old man. He smiled and led the tired horse away. Turning to look at the tavern, a wicked gleam shone in her eyes, a plan forming in her scheming mind as she walked away.

Inside the dark tavern it was already busy. Athos had adopted his usual table and sat in the shadows, deep in thought. He had drunk the first bottle without much hesitation, but now on the second, he found he could not consume it with as much enthusiasm. He stared at the empty cup as though, by thought alone, he could refill it without disturbing his tired limbs. A sudden shattering of glass caught his attention and he noted two men with scarves around their faces, one of whom was gripping the landlord by the throat, whilst a young woman, presumably his daughter, handed over a small pouch. The man who was throttling the landlord let him go, and he staggered back to the ministrations of the young girl, the two aggressors leaving without further ado. Athos watched with only mild interest. Two disgruntled customers, not surprising if they had ordered this wine, he had forgotten how disgusting it was. But it was wine and if he drank enough, he would not longer notice, and with that thought alone, he poured the last of the bottle and signalled for another.

At some point during the night, he presumed he must have either fallen asleep, or become senseless. He had no recollection of dreaming, so he must indeed have passed out, rather than having made a conscious decision to settle. He awoke in a cold, empty tavern. It was barely light, and his limbs were stiff and uncomfortable. In addition, his eyes were refusing to focus – in fact, they were reluctant to open at all. He felt around for his hat and pulled it firmly in place. He could not remember whether or not he had paid his bill, so laid several coins on the table, judging the amount to be sufficient. With some difficulty, he managed to stand, at which point, his head decided to join with his aching body in proclaiming its refusal to function following such wilful abuse. For a moment, he swayed, his gait unsteady, until he could regain some measure of equilibrium. Eventually, he managed to make his way toward the door, where he slid the bolt across and let himself out into the pre-dawn.

The street glittered, a spring frost covering the ground. He shivered in the frigid air, but it helped somewhat to clear his throbbing head. He hesitated, not sure of his destination. He needed to find rooms. He had money from his work at the garrison and his incapacitation had meant he had not yet spent it all on wine, but for now, he would make do with sharing the hay with Roger.

Sitting in the doorway, patiently waiting not far from where Athos stood, was a small boy. It had been a long, cold night, but at least the woman had given him something warm to eat and a blanket with which to cover himself. It could have been worse, and the reward she had offered had helped keep him awake – he could not afford to lose that much coin. He had begun to think the mark had drunk himself to death, but no, here he was though, to the boy's eyes, he appeared only slightly better than dead. The street child crept out from beneath the warmth of the rug and threw it around his shoulders. Why not? She had not specified its return. He watched the man stagger slightly before managing to walk upright, and in a relatively straight line. He continued to watch as he walked straight through the farrier's workshop, entering the small stable at the back, and the boy wondered whether he might be about to steal the horse. Instead, he was shocked to see the man stroke the black stallion, before sliding down into the straw, curling up like a child and settling to sleep. Well, he had done what she had paid him to do, now perhaps he could get a couple hours rest too.

oOo

The garrison began to busy itself with the orders of the day; there was now much to do in preparation for the King's tour. Treville had laid out the necessary maps, which now covered every available surface – including the floor. Having sent for Aramis and Porthos, he stood hovering over them frowning, as he considered the best route. A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the two men.

'Come,' the familiar call answered, though the tone was distracted and not as forceful as normal.

The Captain straightened, rubbing his aching back before turning to face the two Musketeers as they entered. He gestured toward the maps, and they stood on either side of their Captain as he began to explain.

The three men studied them for over an hour, discussing the best routes, the worst roads for an entourage that big, and the likeliest places for an ambush. By the time they had finished, they had identified far more negatives than positives. Treville walked over to the cupboard, taking a bottle and three glasses from the shelf and, indicating that the two men should take a seat, poured each of them a drink.

'It would appear, gentleman, that the route we choose will be fraught with danger whatever we do. In this scenario there is no such thing as a safe road, not when one is escorting the King of France, let alone the Queen and the First Minister.' He drank deeply from his cup as though saying the names out loud had made the reality even more painful.

'Athos was good at this stuff.' The statement, though not surprising in its accuracy, made the others raise their eyebrows in amazement. The fact that it had been made by Porthos stunned the two men. Treville had not been party to the discussions between the two Musketeers, but he had observed the tension and the fact that Athos' name was conspicuously absent from their conversations. Porthos noted the reaction of the two men and shrugged his wide shoulders.

'Just sayin',' he scowled, but Aramis smiled and slapped him on the shoulder, sensing something had changed.

'Perhaps we should conduct some reconnaissance,' Aramis suggested. Treville appeared thoughtful.

'Go on,' he encouraged.

'Well, you could send men to check out the routes, see who is in residence. At least those involved would be aware of our presence. We would also know if anyone new had been invited or was visiting at the same time as the King, who had not been there previously.' Treville smiled.

'Good thinking. It is better than sitting here staring at maps. I will dispatch men in pairs to carry out your suggestion.' Aramis added:

'We could revisit the first two on the route, we have been before so will have a slight advantage – Château d'Ambois and Château D'Ramboullet.' Aramis was aware of Porthos, who simply frowned and shrugged his shoulders. Treville agreed.

'You leave in the morning, take what you need. I will send out further pairs to scout the other destinations. At least this way we will have a better idea of what we face. Thank you, gentleman. Safe journey.' The two men turned and left the office.

'Why'd you do that?' Porthos asked. ''E won't be there, you know that don't ya?' Aramis attempted to look surprised.

'I do not know what you mean, I simply thought it would make sense. We have been to both houses before and would know if anything appeared out of place.' Porthos humphed and gave his friend a side-long glance.'

'You must think I'm stupid. You want to go back to the Château D'Ambois because you know 'e went to see the old girl. That was weeks ago, 'e's hardly likely to be there now. And if 'e is, what then?' Aramis' shoulders slumped, and he sank down on to the bench. Hesitating for a moment he answered:

'I do not know what I expected. It was just a chance, he might have told her something.' His dark eyes pleaded silently with Porthos to understand. 'I thought perhaps you'd had a change of heart, after what you said in the Captain's office.' He watched as Porthos scowled, gazing off into the distance.

'Perhaps I've been doin' some thinkin'. Maybe you were right, 'e would have found it hard, me and you carrying on, in and out of the garrison, whilst 'e was stuck here working with the cadets. 'E deserved better than that. I understand why 'e went. I just wish 'e had said goodbye.' Aramis smiled softly.

'So do I, but I believe he thought it was better for all of us that way.' He raised his hand as Porthos began to interrupt. 'It would have been harder still to have watched him leave.' The big man gave a single nod.

'Don't go gettin' your hopes up though, 'e will be long gone.' Aramis simply patted his friend's arm.

'We have a journey to prepare for, and I shall not wait for you if you are late.' Porthos chuckled.

'Right, like I'm the one who keeps everyone waitin'!' The two men went their separate ways to gather what they would need for the trip.

oOo

It was the second night Athos had spent absorbed in a tavern – the day between had passed in a blur. He had spent the morning working off a mild hangover and, in the afternoon, he had collected his horse and ridden long and hard. But as the afternoon wore on toward evening, he found himself retracing a familiar path back to Paris, as if pulled by some invisible thread.

Now, in the dark shadows of the tavern, he embarked on his second bottle. He had not returned to the Red Barrell; his standard of living may have taken a downward turn, but their wine was almost undrinkable. And so, he was quietly nursing his cup of slightly improved wine, when he noted a scuffle at the bar. He squinted, focusing tired eyes on the perpetrators. There was something familiar about the entire scenario. Two men, faces hidden, were haranguing the landlord, this time – unlike the night before – he passed a hefty purse across to the two men without the need for further violence, but Athos noted the expression of fear and hatred in the man's eyes.

Could they be the same pair that he had seen the previous night? Athos did not favour coincidence. Draining his cup, he rose giving the serving girl some coin and, taking his bottle with him, casually followed the men outside.

It was not late, but the night was cloudy and little moonlight lit the street, which was no longer busy. Athos looked left and right. The odd horse and cart trundled by and men, already drunk, staggered home after a long day; windows showed fleeting images of family life, and flickering lamps threw the occasional glimmer of light on to the damp cobbles.

A shout of anger, further on, showed him what he was seeking. One man was helping another to his feet, two others having pushed him to the floor, out of their way. The two culprits hurried ahead turning into the next tavern. Athos followed.

This inn, like most of the others in the city, was busy. A girl was wending her way between tables, balancing a tray of ale on her ample hips, giving Athos a cheeky grin and a wink as she brushed against him. His attention, though, was focused on the events unfolding at the far end of the bar.

The two men whom he had followed were pinning the landlord against the wall, and when his wife intervened, brandishing what appeared to be a large rolling pin, one of them lashed out, knocking the shocked woman to the floor. Several nearby customers made to intervene, but the sudden appearance of a pistol persuaded them it was none of their business.

The landlord raised both his hands in supplication and, moving to a box at the rear of the bar, he took out a small object and practically threw it at the man holding the knife. The recipient merely laughed and grabbed the purse, giving the man a hard shove that sent him staggering into a stack of barrels, as they pushed their way through the crowd, and disappeared into the night.

Athos considered following, but decided against it. The landlord may prove more informative. He approached the bar, patiently waiting for the man to finish restacking the fallen barrels.

'Wine,' Athos requested. The man grunted and reached for a cup and bottle.

'Trouble?' Athos asked, supping from the vessel. The man peered closer at his customer.

'Nothing I can't deal with,' he replied, appraising the man posing the question.

'How long?' Athos continued. The man's eyes widened then narrowed. Scowling, he growled:

'I don't know what you mean.' He gulped, his eyes darting toward his wife.

'How long have you been paying them?' Athos persisted. Now the man was visibly scared.

'I'm not paying anyone, it was just business – mine not yours.' He gave Athos one final glare then moved off to serve someone else.

Athos took his drink and found a spot suited to his mood. Those who drowned their troubles usually migrated to the rear, where it remained generally darker and proved less conducive to socialising. He sat in silence, finishing the bottle he had carried from the last establishment.

The serving girl from earlier caught his eye and, checking to see she wasn't needed elsewhere, approached Athos' table, hips swaying as she walked.

'Anything I can do for you, handsome?' she purred, tracing his jaw with her fingers. Athos was about to decline when he changed his mind. Producing a coin, he held it aloft. Her eyes gleamed, and with a sultry smirk she told him:

'You might have to wait a while if you want to spend that, I'm working until late. Though for you, I might get off early.' She licked her lips, like a cat anticipating the cream.

'What I want will only take a few minutes. Why not take a seat, Mademoiselle?' The girl's smile faded, her expression becoming guarded.

'The landlord appears to be having trouble from two of his customers.' The girl pouted, this was not how she had hoped the conversation would progress. The man was not like most of her regulars, having an air of aloof authority which she found attractive.

'I'm not sure what you mean,' she responded. Perhaps the longer she kept him talking, the better her chances might be. Athos was tired, and though his interest was piqued, he did not possess the flattery necessary to finesse the girl – that was Aramis' forte.

'Mademoiselle, I suspect he is being forced to pay, my guess is for protection. One of these days they will come, and he may not be able to pay. Then someone will be hurt. What can you tell me?' He held the coin in front of her again and she grabbed at it, placing it between her small breasts. Pouting, she began to talk:

'It started a couple of months ago, they came and asked for money, Luc just laughed at them. When he came down the next morning, someone had broken in and let the ale out of the barrels, it was a shocking mess. The next night they came back, and he paid up. They've been coming regular ever since, always at the beginning of the month, and getting nastier too.' She looked scared, and Athos frowned.

'Do you know who they are?' She shook her head.

'Are you sure I can't do anything else for you?' She leant forward and moved the hair from over his eyes. 'Such beautiful eyes, you shouldn't hide them so.' Athos was at a loss how to respond, when a voice shouted above the noise.

'Paulette, get over here, you're supposed to be working!' The landlord's wife had obviously overcome her upset and was scowling across the room at the young woman. The girl stood, rolled her eyes and blew Athos a kiss.

'Another time, then.' With that, she made her way back across the room, ensuring she made the most of her retreating figure.

Athos sat back and poured himself another glass of wine. So, somebody was running a protection racket in Paris. Not good, not good at all. The question was, what to do? He could pass the information on to the garrison, though it was not really within their remit. No, for now he would watch and wait – it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. Until then, there was wine to drink and a long night to get through.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Athos had spent the afternoon keeping company with Roger – they had enjoyed a long gallop through the rough countryside surrounding the city. Now both spent, Athos found a secluded spot beneath the boughs of an old willow, the long branches caressing the small bubbling river that ran, tranquil beneath. All was silent, and the sun shone warm on his face. Tethering his horse where he could eat and drink his fill, he peeled off the warm leather doublet and pulled his shirt free. Lying on the bank he rested his head on the soft moss, contemplating his life, or what had become of it.

For the last two days, he had been only minutes from the garrison entrance. So what had prevented him from crossing that threshold, and taking what Treville had offered with both hands? Would it be so bad? He had enjoyed working with the cadets, though he had to admit he had enjoyed the rest of his time at the garrison more – apart, that was, from when he was in the infirmary, he hated the infirmary. However, the memories of a fussing Aramis and a scowling Porthos, bought a momentary smile to his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, like a cloud covering the sun. It was peaceful on the river bank, just the sound of Roger tearing at the grass, whilst early bees buzzed somewhere nearby. Eventually, the peace and warmth suppressed his immediate worries, and he drifted off to sleep.

As his master lay in blissful ignorance, Roger had wandered closer, deciding he had waited patiently for long enough. Nudging the idle form with his long black nose, he blew hot air onto his master's cheeks. Athos awoke with a start. He sat up, abruptly shaking his head when he realised what, or rather who, had woken him. He reached up, stroking the soft nose, as he acknowledged the gentle hint. By now, the sun had sunk low in the sky, its light now golden as it played amongst the leaves, dappling the green bank.

'I suppose you are ready to go home?' He rested his head against the warm neck. 'Where is home boy? Do you care? Probably not. Perhaps we expect too much from the institution. Maybe you have it right – warmth, food somewhere to sleep. Why confuse the issue with companionship, purpose, or love?' He patted the horse, and pulled on his jacket, not bothering to tidy his shirt. The air was still warm, and they had several miles to cover before they reached Paris.

oOo

Milady stood in the cover of the church doorway, the irony not lost on her. A small boy hurried across the street and skidded to a halt in front of her. She arched a dark eyebrow, waiting to receive what she had paid for.

'So, what do you have for me?' All the time the boy talked, she scanned the streets, never missing the chance to identify something of interest.

'Same as before. Went to the tavern, only this time he didn't stay long. Came out behind two coves, then followed them to another tavern. This time he stayed. By the time he came out, he was well in his cups. Then to the stable like before.' Her informant stood there, hopping from one foot to the other, as though the church steps were hot coals, burning his feet. She considered the information.

'How, do you know he was following the men?' The boy rolled his eyes and huffed.

'Please, it's wot I do, lady. I know when someone is followin' someone else. He kept back, but only enough to keep 'em in sight. He was followin' 'em awright.' She lifted her chin, contemplating the boy.

'Did you recognise the two men?' This time he narrowed his eyes, standing as if frozen, both actions telling her that he knew something he was reluctant to admit. Sighing, she reached into her purse and pulled out another shiny coin. 'I will ask you again. Did you recognise the two men?' Eyes darting back and forth, the boy made to grab at the coin. 'Not so quick. Talk,' she ordered. The boy sighed.

'I seen 'em before. They turned up some time back, faces always covered, so I don't know who they are – honest. They go into the taverns, one after the other, don't stop long enough to drink nuthin' though, then they come back out and go to the next. Word is, they are gettin' money. If the landlords refuse...' he shrugged his small shoulders and, smiling her catlike smile, she handed over the money.

'Very good. Now I have another job for you. How are you at stealing purses?'

Once the boy had gone, she leant back against the wall. Oh, Athos, always one to have to right a wrong. How predictable you are. What does it matter to you if someone has found a way to make money, even if it is at somebody else's expense? You always did have to help the underdog – to interfere. Well, your interference will be your undoing, it is time you were no more. I have waited, I have been patient, but I have become restless. You are a thorn under my skin, and it is time you were removed.

oOo

Roger safely ensconced with Monsieur René, he wondered if he would happen upon a repeat of last night's events. He would be on the alert – whoever they were, it had to be stopped. A thick mist was beginning to settle over the city, and there were few people on the street. The dense spring fogs were a godsend to those desperate inhabitants of the city wishing to hide their sins and debauchery. God-fearing people, on the other hand, kept to their homes, filling their rooms with light, as if it would keep evil at bay, and if they heard a cry from outside, they crossed themselves and prayed.

Athos swaggered down the quiet thoroughfare, his haughty stance easily recognisable from a distance. She watched closely, hiding in the shadows as usual; where she now belonged. He appeared more dishevelled than usual, jacket open, shirt barely confined within his breeches. Her pulse was racing – not long now. If his appearance beckoned memories of long, passion-filled nights, she refused to admit it. Forcing herself back to the present, she hardened her heart – now was not the time for distraction, no matter how pleasurable.

There. A small figure darted in between the empty stalls. It was time. She crossed the street, waiting, feeling her blood practically bubbling in her veins. The boy darted out of nowhere, dashed across Athos' path, grabbed at his purse and ran, oh did he run – he bolted as if his life depended on it. She could have told him Athos was too noble to ever hurt a child; he would probably hand him over to someone to straighten out, but would never hit or lash out in anger. Though she recalled that his anger had often led to far more interesting moments!

The boy came out of nowhere. Athos was deep in thought, and before he could react or grab the child, he was gone, along with the purse. He did not stop to question his own actions – heading off after the boy he darted in and out of the empty market stalls, but the boy was quick and maintained a good distance between them. Nimbly, he darted into a darkened alley, and Athos followed. The walls on either side were tall and the encroaching mist made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of him. He walked tentatively, at last questioning the intelligence of his response.

Athos found himself at a dead end, no sign of the figure he had followed. Stopping to regain his breath, he turned, leaning heavily against the wall. As he waited, his breathing slowly returned to normal. One of the small doorways in the passageway must have provided an escape route for the thief. If he knew the area well, he would be long gone by now. There had not been much coin in the purse, it was no great loss. As he pushed away from the wall, something moved in the shadows. His breath came in clouds, the air still cold, despite the anomalous warmth of the day indicating the approaching spring. March had blown in cold and blustery, and tonight was no exception.

Shivering, he decided that finishing the evening in some dark tavern was probably his best option. It had been a quiet day, but after his earlier rest he anticipated a long night. Again, he noticed the smallest shift in the light filtering through the evening mist. He narrowed his eyes, squinting, and tried to focus on the source of movement.

She watched as the boy grabbed at his purse and launched himself into the narrow alleyway. Athos darted after the racing figure, never stopping to contemplate his actions, never considering it may be a trap. Stupid. Slowly, she followed, her heart racing. So, this was to be it, the moment she had fantasised over for so many nights. In a few moments it would be over. What would he say? Would he sneer and condemn her? Would he beg for forgiveness? No, never that. As she entered the alley, she paused and, feeling beneath her petticoats, she grasped the hilt of the small dagger. Somehow it felt alien in her hands. Though she had used it many times before to end a life, none of those lives had elicited a second thought. Tonight, she was completing her own unfinished business, and somehow, it felt like the first time.

She could see him now. He faced her at the end of the alley, breathing heavily, eyes closed. She froze, green eyes now open, he was looking straight at her. Could he see her? The mist had gathered, swaying around them like waves upon the sea. She began to move forward once more, hardly able to breathe, a mixture of excitement and dread building within her.

Now the movement was clearer. Though the mist had grown thicker, he could make out the shape of a woman. She wore a cloak or such like over her head, and appeared to glide through the wraith-like fog like an apparition. As the figure became clearer, his heart squeezed and terror took hold. Apparition indeed. No! It could not be! This was not real. Athos did not know whether to draw his weapon or pray, though he decided that either option would be futile. Suddenly she was standing before him. He stared, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted. In a voice that sounded like a broken whisper, disembodied, not emanating from his own mouth, he gasped:

'What do you want?' The apparition smiled, it was a sly, knowing smile. In the old days, it would have held the promise of fulfilled desire and satisfaction. Now it froze him to the marrow. The apparition did not speak, but instead raised its hand and reached for him. Athos held his breath, not sure what to expect, waiting for the cold hand of the dead to touch his soul.

When the warm fingers stroked his face, his confusion grew. When she spoke, he was lost.

'You think I am a ghost? Do I look like a ghost?' The words came out in a breathy whisper, a sensual purr. She continued to move her fingers down his cheek, along the soft waves of his hair, enjoying the look of consternation upon his face. 'Does this feel like a ghost?' Her hands moved around his jaw, and she could feel the rapid pulse beneath her fingers, her heart beating in time with his. As she allowed her thumb to trace the contours of his throat, she felt the chain around his neck. Looking up into his face, she noted that the terror had gone, there was no emotion there at all, but his chest heaved, and she knew he was struggling to gain control.

Good, let him suffer. But something about his expression awoke an emotion deep inside of her. Had he begged, or pleaded, or shown some sign of weakness, she would have ended it, there and then. But no, his demeanour was arrogant if anything and, despite her agenda, she felt the old familiar arousal. Though theirs had been a happy marriage for the brief time they had been together, Athos had a temper, and it had always managed to ignite her desire. On those occasions, he had forgotten he was a gentleman, and their subsequent lovemaking had been fierce and urgent, feeding their most primitive desires. She had underestimated what his anger might do for her still. When he spoke she stilled her hand.

'How?' Just one word. He had always had the ability to say so much, with so little. Still playing with the chain around his neck, she searched his eyes.

'You did not wait long enough. You did not have the stomach to watch me die, to see my body hang and twitch from the bough of the tree beneath which we had made love. You did not see my corpse.'

'I have stood at your grave,' he whispered. She raised a brow, the slightest trace of a smile upon her red lips. Again, she stroked the heavy chain as, slowly, she began to withdraw it from beneath his shirt.

'Anyone can dig a grave, that does not mean anything lies within. You should have waited, seen it to the end.' He looked desolate now, and for a moment she thought he was going to reach out to her, but at the last moment, he dropped his hand to his side. He felt the chain slide along his heaving chest, scraping against his fevered skin as her nails once had. At the end, hung a locket. Her heartbeat increased, she didn't think it was possible – it already hammered inside her chest like thunder in a summer storm. Neither of them spoke, nor moved, as she opened the small silver case. When the interior was revealed, she gasped. The small blue flowers, pressed forever, a keepsake of a day long past. A precious moment she had long sought to blank from her memory. But he had not. He still wore it around his neck, hanging close to his heart.

For a moment she lost her nerve. She did not even know at what point she had returned the dagger to its home beneath her skirts. One hand held the locket, the other found itself pressed to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thumping of his heart.

Athos could not believe what he saw before him. The heady scent of jasmine filled the air, and this time he knew it was not his fevered imagination. But she could not be real. When her warm fingers touched his skin, it was all he could do to stop himself from crying out. As their tips traced his jaw and made their way to his throat, he froze. How? How could she not be dead? But her hands were not those of a corpse. Then she spoke, that sultry purr, the same velvet voice she used when she had taken his hand, promising him the earth and beyond. He hardly dared breathe, in case she should disappear. But why? Why would it matter?

She could feel her treacherous body begin to respond to the closeness of his. This was not the way she had planned it. She had killed so many times, she had lost count. Now, when she needed to shut off her emotions, they were raging a war within her, and desire was the strongest.

Athos pulled at his leather gloves, which dropped to the floor as he slowly reached out to see if the vision was real, for there was still some part of him that did not believe it could be true. As his fingers touched her cold cheek, he almost recoiled, her skin was ice cold. Could she be dead? Did the dead touch and talk like the living? He moved his hand down lower, he could see the pale flesh beneath her cloak, and he shifted the heavy silk aside. Her breathing was heavy, and he could see the rise and fall of her breast, as she, too, struggled to get enough air into her lungs. She was no corpse.

What happened next, neither of them could have explained. Who moved first it was impossible to tell – perhaps they moved as one? She was pressed against him so hard, he could feel the bricks dig into his back, as she forced him against the wall. Her cheeks may have been cold, but her lips were warm, and soft. Her hands were in his hair and she kissed him with a passion that had long been hidden and suppressed. For him, also, it had been too long, and all those months of pain, anguish and loneliness exploded in a sudden longing he could not control. The kiss became more ferocious, more urgent. They clung on to each other as if their very lives depended upon it. He swung her around so that the roles were reversed and now she was forced against the wall. She lifted her head as he kissed her neck, her throat. She pulled his shirt free and reached beneath for the warmth of his chest. The sound that came from his throat spurred her on and his lips found her once more. When it seemed there was no way to prevent the inevitable, they broke apart, just for a second, pausing to regain their breath. Their eyes locked, desire evident, need raw upon their features.

Then something happened, Athos reached out and traced the side of her face. Was it the tenderness in his touch that undid her? Rough desire, animal passion, she could deal with, and match it with her own. But tender affection? She was not prepared for that. Terrified at what they had done, she pushed him away. Catching him off guard, he staggered, slightly drunk with emotion. Without looking back, she dodged beneath his arm and ran. She ran like she had never run before, and she kept running until she was sure he had not followed her. God, what had she done? Her world had suddenly crashed around her. Her plans, her revenge, gone like the spring mist. How could he? She tried to tell herself she was angry at him, but she knew deep inside that the emotion that ruled her being right now was nothing akin to anger, unless you counted its intensity.

He stood frozen, his head buzzing with questions, his body still throbbing with desire. He wiped a hand across his face. What in hell had just happened? Tentatively, he touched his face, as if he would find some evidence of her caress. The fog moved and pulsed, adding to his confusion. Had it been real? His body told him it had been very real indeed. So, she was alive. How? Why? And after all this time. A strangled sob ripped from his throat; he could still taste her, and that damned smell of jasmine still clung to his skin. He moaned. How could he have just seen his supposedly dead wife, let alone slake that long-buried desire in so base a way – though it had been a mutual desire, of that he was in no doubt. Slowly sinking to the floor, Athos looked to the darkened sky – what now?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As the two men walked into the dim interior, Athos became instantly alert; he had been biding his time, hoping he had chosen the correct establishment. The landlord had been sick for the last week, and the swordsman had banked on this to have delayed the collection – he had been right. Slowly, he rose from his table, not wishing to alert the men to his presence until the last minute.

oOo

'Well it has not been the day we anticipated,' Aramis sighed, as he emerged from the extremely unpleasant infirmary. Porthos slapped his friend on the back.

'Serves 'em right, they should know better than to eat in a place like that. Dunno wot they were thinkin',' smirked the big Musketeer.

'Food poisoning though? Still, I have done what I can, the infirmarian can take it from here. The night is wearing on, do _we_ risk eating out?' He appraised his friend, amused to see the look of consternation on his face.

'Well we know The Wren's food is good,' Porthos answered hopefully.

'We also know, it will be full of Red Guards, and they still want to hurt us – badly – after your last bout of _good_ _luck_. I do not have the energy to convince them otherwise for a _second time_.' He raised a brow at his friend, and Porthos chuckled.

'Well,' he said, placing a muscled arm around his friend's slim shoulders, 'let us see where the night takes us.' With that, the two men left the garrison, and its sick inhabitants, in search of good food and good wine.

oOo

Athos had been desperate to find something to take his mind off what had just happened, his emotions in a state of unmitigated chaos. Walking toward the two men, he let his anger have free rein; and though only a fraction of it was caused by his unsuspecting victims, they were going to suffer the result – in its entirety. Wine had never stood a chance of obliterating his consciousness tonight, a decent fight was the only alternative, he needed oblivion now more than ever, from wherever it came.

Athos had always been able to channel his aggression when he fought. Though fury burnt in his eyes, his actions were cold and calculating, and he supposed that, at least, was something he could thank his father for. Silently, he moved behind the two men, and began to speak, his voice haughty and arrogant – angry Athos at his best.

'Gentlemen, I believe that money does not belong to you. I suggest you return it or…' He let the sentence hang in the air, smirking at the two astonished men and, raising a brow, he awaited their response.

The landlord appeared terrified. 'This is nothing to do with me, I've never seen him before,' he pleaded. One of the men glared at the desperate man.

'Well don't worry, because you won't be seeing him ever again.' He grinned and turned to face Athos, the other man following suit.

'_Or_ what?' the second man asked, his voice muffled by the scarf around the lower half of his face. Athos tilted his head, appearing to give the question some thought. Satisfied with his answer, he gave the slightest curl of his lips before replying.

'Or, I will simply peel it from your dead hands.' He gave the slightest incline of his head whilst waiting for one of the two men to make the next move. When the pistol emerged, he was already one step ahead. The knife left his hand so quickly, only the merest flash of steel caught the recipient's attention, before embedding itself in the shoulder of the arm holding the weapon. From that point, everything happened at once. With his free hand Athos drew his sword, relishing the feel of its weight in his hand – he had remained inactive for too long. He could not help but smile as he lifted the weapon to his forehead; he might be about to kill them, but that didn't mean he was without honour.

He took a step backward, sending a table flying, ale pouring in all directions, and hoped that the owners of the spilt beverages would not be encouraged to join the fray. The man with the dagger wound pulled the knife from his shoulder and, as blood flowed freely from the wound, Athos noted that he was obviously the _stupid_ one. He risked a glance to see where the knife had fallen, before raising his sword. The first man roared in anger and leapt toward Athos, his own sword out in front of him, but Athos deflected it with no difficulty.

He began to manoeuvre them toward the door, there was no room inside, and he did not wish to injure any innocent bystanders. _Stupid _now had his own sword raised, and they both came at him simultaneously. Athos parried the two blades and thrust the uninjured man backward, accidentally taking his comrade with Athos made to move forward once more, he heard a voice in his ear, as something was pressed into his left hand. The landlord looked scared, but a remnant of hope lit his eyes as he whispered to Athos.

'Ere's ya dagger, make sure you kill the bastards!' Athos did not break his concentration, just nodded and gratefully accepted its return. The handover had taken only a few seconds, but it was long enough for _Stupid_ and his companion to gain their footing once more. Athos took two very quick strides forward, lunging at the two men. At that moment, one of the obliging patrons pulled open the door and the two men hurtled backwards – just as the tip of Athos' sword tore open the injured man's jerkin. He howled in pain and stumbled backward into the street.

oOo

'Now, where do you suggest we settle our weary bones this fine night?' Aramis asked, as they sauntered along the quiet road. He inclined his head toward his friend, who was about to speak, when the door of the nearby tavern opened, and two men literally fell out, one screaming in pain. Aramis and Porthos took a step backward, vaguely interested in seeing how the scene would unfold, though not eager to get caught up in it.

Just then, a cold and deadly Athos came tearing out of the tavern in pursuit of the two men. The Musketeers, their eyes wide and their mouths open, could not believe what they were seeing. Porthos made to step forward, but Aramis placed a restraining hand on his friend's arm, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

'Might be worth watching,' he suggested, and Porthos gave a chuckle of delight.

Athos was parrying and lunging at the uninjured man with fierce accuracy, resulting in several tears in his doublet, and there was blood dripping down the finger of the hand not holding his sword. The other man, _Stupid,_ was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss, and decided a less subtle approach might be more effective. Climbing up onto a stack of boxes, he threw himself at Athos' back, causing the swordsman to stagger. Clinging tight, he held him around the throat and, as Athos attempted to fight off his other opponent, he was now struggling to keep his balance. Becoming irritated with this new distraction, Athos whipped his head forward, then threw it backward with full force, catching the fool on his back across the nose, eliciting a sick crack as the bone smashed. Falling to the floor, he howled, as he clutched at his bleeding and broken nose.

'E might talk like a nob, but 'e can sure fight dirty,' grinned a proud Porthos. Aramis beamed, though he winced at the man's pain.

Athos raised his sword, and tilted his chin upward, a sure sign he was going in for the kill. When a sudden cry from the end of the street halted his attack, he turned, as did the two Musketeers, in time to see a party of guards appear around the corner. Athos hesitated for split second, then punched the man hard in the face with the hilt of his sword, before hastily melting into the shadows. Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances, deciding that, as this was not their fight, they were not going to be found by the Cardinal's guards standing over a couple of bloodied men. Though neither of them had any idea in which direction Athos had gone, they, too, turned and fled.

When they were convinced the guards had not followed them, the two Musketeers halted their flight. Porthos leant against the wall, doubled over, waiting for his breathing to settle. Aramis, despite his rapid gasps for air, wore a stupid grin as wide as the Seine. Porthos eyed his friend's joy and shook his head. He tried to scowl but eventually, even he began to chuckle.

'E always did know how to make an entrance!' the big man snorted, glee chasing away any reservations.

'Did he see us?' Aramis asked.

'Nope, doubt it, 'e had other business to attend to. Which reminds me, perhaps we need to ask some questions. After all, we were after food and drink,' he smirked at his companion. Aramis clapped him on the shoulder and, hesitating no longer, he strode back in the direction they had come.

As they neared the tavern, Porthos noted a small boy hovering in the doorway of the building opposite, he whistled softly and indicated for the child to come over. The lad checked over each shoulder but made no move to approach the two men. Porthos understood his doubts and produced a coin from inside his doublet.

With a renewed interest the boy moved forward and, when he was still some distance away, he asked haltingly: 'Wot yer want?' Porthos smiled and pointed to the tavern door.

'Just take a look inside and tell us if there are any Red Guards in there,' the big man explained, crouching down to avoid towering over him. The boy noted the pauldron's on the two men's shoulders and smiled.

'Is there gonna be a fight?' His eyes were shining with excitement. Porthos shook his head and laughed.

'Not if we can help it.' The boy appeared slightly crestfallen, but took the money anyway. He scurried off toward the tavern, opened the door and went in. A couple of minutes, later he came back out and walked over to the waiting men.

'Nah, they wos in earlier, but there wos some trouble and they dragged two men off. They aint bin back since.' Aramis nodded and thanked the boy, who ran off into the night – well, as far as the corner – before finding a new place to wait and watch.

'Shall we?' Aramis asked, gesturing Porthos to precede him into the tavern. The air had turned cold, as it often did in spring, but inside the tavern the fire was lit, and the air was humid and thick with smoke.

'Needs to get 'is chimney swept,' Porthos choked, as he waved his hand in front of his face. They worked their way toward the bar and requested an ale each.

'I hear there was trouble in here tonight,' Porthos stated, in his usual forthright manner. Aramis, meanwhile, was giving the serving girl the benefit of one of his very best smiles, hoping his charm would produce more answers than his friend's less subtle approach.

A short while later, both men sat down with their food and ale and listened to what the other had discovered.

As he tucked into his dish of steaming stew, Porthos imparted his information first. 'It seems the landlord was having some trouble with a couple of customers, when Athos barged in and took 'em to task. Reckon there is more to it than 'e's tellin', though, 'e seems scared. Said 'e 'ad never seen Athos before tonight. Sumthin' tells me that part was true.' Aramis appeared smug, and wiped his beard before sitting back on the bench and relating his news.

'My informant was far more forthcoming.' Porthos rolled his eyes but continued to dip bread into his stew. 'Apparently, she works most nights as the barmaid at The Fleece, but tonight her friend needed a favour – don't ask – so she swapped. Now your landlord may not have seen Athos before but she had, and this is what she told me…'

'_I couldn't believe me eyes. It was the same gent as last night, ever so 'andsome he was, and 'ad a real nice way of talkin', made yer shiver it did.' She shivered and rubbed small pudgy hands along her bare arms, to illustrate her point, though the look on her face said she rather liked it. Aramis raised a brow but made no comment. 'Well me and 'im 'ad a little business last night.' She gave a sly smirk and Aramis almost choked on his ale._

'_You did?' he asked astounded, the shock on his face eliciting a guilty expression. She blushed slightly, twisting her hair around her fingers._

'_Not like that! Wot kinda girl do ya think I am? Though I wouldn't a minded.' She giggled and gave Aramis a nudge. Noting his expression, not to mention the shiny coin he was passing between his fingers, she reluctantly resumed her story. 'Well, 'e wanted to know about the trouble we wos 'avin' at The Fleece, the two men who kept coming in at the beginnin' of the month, demanding money. So I told 'im. After that I 'ad to go and work – the landlady is a real bitch. So, imagine my surprise when he comes in tonight as large as life. Though he didn't look 'appy, 'e 'ad a right face on 'im. I was glad it wasn't me 'e was angry with_,_ I can tell yer – face like thunder, angry, but cold, if you know what I mean?' Aramis knew exactly what she meant, and he wondered what had happened to pitch his friend into such a mood._

'_Then what happened?' Aramis encouraged. She shrugged._

'_Not sure. I didn't want to bother 'im, 'e didn't look in the mood. Next thing I know, 'e's knifed one of 'em and is fightin' with the other. He pushed 'em both out into the street. Thought that was it, but next thing I know, the damned guards come in, pushin' everyone around as always, shoutin' about who was 'e. Well, we didn't know did we, so we couldn't tell 'em. Not that we would 'av anyway, after all, he was only tryin' to 'elp. I just 'ope 'e aint made it worse.' She looked worried and Aramis handed over the money, hoping it might ease her pain._

'_One more question. The two men, were they after money from the landlord tonight?' She nodded, though not particularly enthusiastically. Aramis stood and thanked her for her help._

'So you see, it appears Athos has got himself involved in some form of protection racket.' Porthos scowled and shook his head.

'I've told you before, 'e simply can't keep out of trouble – attracts it like bees to honey.' Aramis shrugged, but even Porthos' annoyance could not dampen his mood.

'He is back in Paris, that is all that matters. Now all we have to do is find him.' Porthos began to shake his head, then he paused.

'Why?' He looked at Aramis intently.

'Why what?' Aramis retorted, frowning.

'Why do we 'ave to find him if 'e's in Paris and 'asn't come to find us?' Aramis rolled his eyes.

'I thought we had discussed all of that, and moved on. Just because he has chosen to return to Paris, does not mean he felt comfortable returning to the garrison. We just have to convince him he is wrong.' The idea revitalised his enthusiasm, and even Porthos began to smile.

'Just as long as I don't have to carry his bleedin' carcass home again…' he chortled, though both men secretly hoped he was right.

oOo

Athos took the back streets, blood boiling that he had not been able to conclude what he had started – he had let the landlord down. Bewildered, he found himself standing in the street between Monsieur René's and The Red Barrel. He didn't care about the quality of the wine anymore, just how much he could consume to make the memory go away. He pushed open the door and, making his way over to his usual table, signalled for a bottle of wine. The landlord set it down and left him to it, though not before he had received payment. Athos suspected the man had seen enough tortured souls to recognise when a man planned to drink himself into oblivion, and knew to make them settle up first.

He downed the first glass in one go and poured another, trying desperately to think of something else, anything – but his thoughts kept coming back to _her_.

Having picked himself up off the floor, he had rushed straight to the tavern, kidding himself the distraction would erase the memory. What an utter fool he had been, _erase_ what had just happened? Never. He could hardly still his own hands at the thought of it, and only now, as he sat in the darkness of the inn, could he really let himself begin to react to the shock. Another glass, and another. Still he could smell her on his shirt, on his skin, and feel her fingers along his jaw. Groaning inwardly, he sent for another bottle and began to work his way through that. How could she still live? He had thought himself mad, beginning to doubt his own memories, but all those moments, the smell of her perfume, it had been real, all of it. If only he could understand what he felt, sort out the emotions running through his head.

When she had touched him, stood so close, the loneliness, the existence of which he had denied for so long, had become overwhelming. Just to hold another, to feel the warmth of her embrace, had been more than he could withstand. But it was _her_ behaviour he could not comprehend. Surely her first intent had been to harm him, the knife was proof of that. And then she had changed her mind, but why? Did she, too, feel the same loneliness, the emotional isolation that was slowly eating away inside him? Did she suffer alone in the dark as did he? He could not decide whether the possibility that each of them shared the same torment, the same terrors in the night, was a comfort, or just another sign of his own shallow weakness.

The second bottle was empty. Suddenly he shivered, and lifted his head, though it felt heavy, and his eyes beginning to blur. There it was again, the slightest of breezes, as though the air around him was colder. Perhaps he was going mad, or perhaps the dead really were visiting him tonight. He stood and walked over to the bar, focusing on the landlord, who observed his approach. Coin exchanged hands and Athos carried the two bottles outside. The air was cold, and the mist from earlier appeared to have evaporated, though he could no longer rely on what he saw before his own eyes. Desolate, he gazed up at the sky. It was clear, and the moon shone brightly upon the sleeping city, the stars twinkling brightly in the inky darkness. He should have been able to appreciate their beauty, but strangely they merely increased his anger.

How dare anything behave normally tonight? How dare the stars gleam in the heavens and the moon continue to shine? Nothing was normal anymore, for what pitiful existence he had managed to salvage from his former life, she had once again shattered.

He raised the bottle in fury, making to smash it to the ground, a strangled sob ripping from his throat. No, he would drain it down to the dregs, for he knew _they_ would still come; he could feel them in the very air, watching waiting, appearing when he was at his lowest ebb, when he could not deny them; though now there would be one less – she was not dead. But as the tears slipped from his tired eyes, he knew she would still come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

She reached her room and collapsed, her breathing still fast, and her heart continuing to thunder in her chest. She hardly dared consider what had just happened. She leant against the wall, her legs still shaking and weak, and slowly she slid down, until she sat shivering upon the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her head rested upon her knees as agonising sobs slowly wracked her frame, until she felt she no longer had the strength to cry. She had once believed she would never shed tears again, she certainly hoped never to feel such desolation. Yet now she was hollow once more; where her revenge had burnt bright, lighting the darkest hours of her life, now there was the pain of confusion. Her path was no longer clear –nothing was clear. Love, hate, life, death – she did not know what she wanted. She only knew how she had felt, how he had made her feel. It had taken almost nothing – the merest stare, his arrogant tone, his refusal to back down – and her resolution had deserted her, her hate melting away with the evening mist.

But there was no hope, no way forward, only a painful limbo in which they must both exist, a reality in which they would both hate and desire one another; where they would have to acknowledge each other's nearness, and yet maintain a separation. It could not happen again, she would not let him get so close in future – she could not allow her emotions, or his, to overrule her senses. What she desired, and what she would allow, would have to remain forever separate, two halves of a whole that could never be.

oOo

Aramis and Porthos ate their supper and decided to return to the garrison; Porthos did not even feel like playing a game of cards.

'Where do you think he is?' Aramis asked after they had walked in silence for some time. Porthos shrugged.

''E could be anywhere, things aren't as bad this time, e's probably found 'imself some rooms.' Though he tried to sound convincing, they both accepted that, knowing Athos, this was not necessarily the case.

'Should we tell Treville?' the marksman persisted. Porthos frowned but eventually nodded.

'I think we should, it's only fair. After all, 'e might 'ave some idea where we could find 'im.' Aramis brightened at the suggestion, and the two men hurried through the garrison arch.

The light still burnt in Treville's office, and the two men wondered if he had slept at all since the King's announcement. The sudden outbreak of sickness in the garrison meant that most of the reconnaissance that had been due to begin that morning had been delayed. One or two of the more far-reaching destinations had been reassigned, due to the length of time it would take to ride there and back. However, the Captain had held off sending Aramis and Porthos, as with so many men ill, added to those sent on their mission, he wanted them close at hand – just in case.

He sat at his desk, head resting in his hands. His eyes were tired, and place names which were normally familiar to him swam across the page, as if they were unknown or foreign destinations. He heard the tread of boots upon the stair and, for once, welcomed the interruption– until he saw who entered.

As fond as he was of these two men, experience had taught him that when they knocked late at night, he needed to prepare himself. At best, he would hear some fantastical tale, that would leave him speechless, at worst… well, at worst, his reaction was usually the same – only with added stress.

To his surprise, Aramis and Porthos both appeared to be in a good mood, Aramis in particular seemed almost jubilant.

'How can I help?' Treville asked. If he sounded abrupt, Aramis was aware that it was merely the result of too little rest. Before either of them could answer, Treville sat straighter in his chair and, for the first time in days, his expression lightened.

'Where?' was all he asked, hoping he was not wrong.

'Outside The Fleece,' Aramis answered, Porthos no longer able to stop himself from emitting a deep chuckle.

'He kinda fell out,' said Porthos, attempting to give a clear report of events and failing. Treville frowned, his worst fears edging closer to the front of his mind. Aramis noted the Captain's concern and jumped in.

'Not like that, at least I don't think so,' Aramis clarified. 'He can fight pretty well drunk, but tonight it was quite evident he was sober.' He turned to Porthos for confirmation, and the big man nodded in agreement.

'Yeah, the two men he was after were losing, when the Red Guards turned up to spoil his fun, as usual.' This time Treville looked aghast.

'Not again?' the Captain moaned. Aramis and Porthos chuckled and Treville felt his anxiety lessen, as the two men would not be laughing if their friend was languishing in the Châtelet for a second time.

'No, this time he had the sense to run, which is one reason why I believe he was sober. Drunk, he would have taken them all on. We, too, decided that it was not our fight to explain, so we left them to deal with the casualties. However, we did return to The Fleece for supper and asked a few questions. It would appear that our reluctant friend has stumbled across a protection racket, here in Paris!' Aramis awaited the Captain's reaction. He was not disappointed.

Treville was angry. 'Why did we not know about this?'

The two men shrugged their shoulders. 'The way they work leaves the victims too scared to tell anyone what is happening. Athos probably noticed them in more than one tavern, you know what he is like – even drunk he does not miss much. He would be in the right place, at the right time, if you know what I mean.' Porthos appeared to become pensive at this thought. None of them liked to think of their friend returning to his old ways.

'Where is he now?' Treville demanded. The two Musketeers exchanged glances, Porthos pouted, scowling hard, and Aramis' buoyant mood deflated.

'We do not know. He ran, I do not believe he even noticed us, he was rather occupied at the time,' Aramis explained.

'Treville became thoughtful, realising that Athos would be an enormous asset in planning and foreseeing potential problems during the King's tour. If the Captain was correct about his background, then he may have extra insight which would prove invaluable.

'I want him found!' Treville barked. Aramis was about to speak when a look from the Captain silenced him. 'This is Athos we are discussing, how many places are there where you would be likely to find him? He is a man of particular habits – even in Paris it cannot be hard.' Porthos grinned and Treville rolled his eyes. 'That is not permission to devote your time to playing cards in taverns, Porthos. I have enough men sick already, and I do not want to lose any more. Report back when you have him – and make it quick.' He added this last order with a look that clearly said, _before he does anything stupid_, his tone implying a level of concern which both men understood. He again turned his concentration to the maps on his desk and the two Musketeers knew they had been dismissed.

'He made it sound easy,' Aramis complained, running his hands through his long hair.

Porthos grinned. 'It is easy,' he said, and winked at his friend as they descended the stairs together. Aramis thumped the big Musketeer's arm and Porthos laughed loudly, the reassuring noise eliciting a smile from their tired Captain, alone in his office, still revelling in the latest news.

'Think, what does Athos care for, far more than himself?' Porthos asked.

Aramis scowled. 'Apart from wine I…' He paused, and his expression altered from confused to enlightened. 'Roger!' And with that, he headed toward the archway, not bothering to wait for Porthos' confirmation.

'Woah!' Porthos shouted, grasping the excited Musketeer by the arm. 'It's late, and there is a good chance he is well into… well, God knows how many bottles by now. I'm not sure we would be welcome. Let him sleep it off.' Feeling anxious, Aramis urged his friend to reconsider.

'What if he is gone by the morning, Porthos? I do not think I could stand it.' Aramis grabbed his friend's arm, his face bleak with the possibility of Athos having been so near then disappearing once again.

Porthos patted the marksman on the shoulder. 'Trust me, after that fight, 'e is going to drink, and not just a glass. You know our friend, 'e was angry, you saw his face. When 'e's angry 'e drinks. 'E won't risk Roger by ridin' 'im while e's drunk, even if he doesn't care for his own neck. 'E will still be there.' Aramis reluctantly agreed to wait, though he knew it would be a restless night – for both of them.

oOo

When Athos awoke it was still early, though he had not managed to rise and remove himself from the stable before the farrier had begun to ready his forge for the day. He could hear the clanking of metal on metal as he tried to remember where he was, until a soft whinny and a gentle nudge, along with the sharp scratching of the straw on his face, reminded him of his sleeping arrangements. Then, as if that had opened the flood gates of his memory, the events of the previous day came rushing from the dark recesses of his mind, where he had attempted to banish them. Like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore, the sudden realisation threatened to overwhelm him. He struggled to order what had happened, but only one thing emerged clear and dominant. _She was alive_.

God, how he wished it had been a dream. For once he would have gladly fought off the pain and the anguish, had it only been his fevered sleep. However, he was only too aware that she had been very real. He could still feel her lips on his and, no matter how hard he screwed his eyes closed, she was still there, emerging from the mist to stand in front of him, smiling that smile, the one she kept only for him – or so she had always said. How could the man he had trusted to carry out the task of killing her have betrayed him so badly? He laughed to himself; of course, he had had no choice, when she had begged for her life, the poor man would not have stood a chance. Athos should have stayed, should have been brave enough to see it through; instead he had taken the coward's way out and left it for someone else to witness. He peered over the stable door and saw that the old man was busy talking with a customer. Athos let himself out of the stall, turning to fondle the horse's nose. 'It looks as if we must move on again, old friend. I cannot stay in Paris knowing she is here. I cannot see her again, I cannot.' Roger tossed his head, as if in compete agreement.

'Monsieur Athos, I did not see you arrive, forgive me. Are you taking our fine friend out this morning?' The man was well aware where Athos had spent the night – the fact he still had straw attached to his rather unkempt hair was a rather telling sign. Still, the farrier had grown rather fond of the taciturn young man, and did not wish to cause him distress. If he wished to sleep with his horse, René could think of worse places where he could choose to spend the night.

Athos could still feel the sharp straw down the back of his shirt, and suspected from the concerned look on Monsieur René's face, that he was fully aware of his sleeping arrangements. However, he appreciated the man's discretion.

'Good morning, Monsieur René.' He squinted slightly as, despite his hat, the morning still felt unnaturally bright, and he found talking difficult, his mouth dry, his tongue too big. He was grateful when a voice hailed the farrier and the man departed, leaving him with a cheery goodbye.

Athos was hardly awake, his head throbbed, and even holding it beneath ice-cold water until his lungs burst for air had not helped. He leant against the door of Roger's stall, trying to piece together the images and memories whirling around inside his head. Some were mere fragments of dreams, souls that tormented him at night invading his peace. But this morning he knew that not all of them were figments of his guilt-ridden imagination – though he wished they were.

He hung his head, reliving the encounter over and over, hoping somehow it would diminish, or fade like last night's nightmares.

But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts could not break away from the events of the previous evening. He could not fathom what had occurred, how she had gone from lifeless and buried, to be encased in his arms once more. He could not even claim confusion, he had surpassed that state, and was completely lost. What was he supposed to feel? Happy? Horrified? Ashamed? He had no comprehension of how to deal with what had happened. He did not know how to carry on; she was his wife, she still lived, how did they exist in the same place knowing what each had done? He could not reason over it any longer, the very thought of it beginning to develop into a physical pain, a deep ache that tore at his body and soul. He needed to be numb, no longer able to think, it was the only way he could cope. Stumbling out into the bustling street, he let his feet lead him to the nearest tavern – should it be the Red Barrel, then so be it.

oOo

Aramis awoke with a start. He had struggled to sleep, just as he had known he would; anticipating the beginning of a mission, or an important event, always hampered his sleep. However, knowing that by waiting until morning, their search may result in complete failure, had been almost painful.

Porthos had not slept at all. He had tried for an hour or two, but in the end, he had given up. In fact, he had sat on their bench, beneath Treville's window, for much of the night. The sky had been clear, stars twinkling high in the heavens, unaware of the turmoil suffered below them in the mortal world.

It had been he who had persuaded Aramis to wait, and if Athos was no longer there in the morning, he did not know how his friend would cope. Since Savoy, he had been overly sensitive to those he considered close, mainly Porthos, but Athos had soon been assimilated into his cloak of protection. When he had chosen to leave, Aramis had been hurt deeply, despite defending his actions to an angry Porthos. Aramis was a brave and gallant soldier, but he was fragile in ways others would not comprehend – Porthos knew that, and he suspected Athos did too. No, the morning could not come soon enough, and if Athos had left, he would be to blame.

Having dressed, Aramis bounded down the stairs to the garrison courtyard, stopping abruptly when he found Porthos with his head upon his arms, fast asleep. Grinning, he shook the big man awake.

'Good morning. Are you making an early start, or was it a very late night?' Porthos squinted, finding the morning sun very bright, especially as he had only had an hour's rest at most.

'Couldn't sleep,' came the gruff reply. 'What time is it?' Aramis shrugged and consulted the pocket watch he always kept about his person.

'A little after seven. Have you already eaten?' Aramis asked, hoping Porthos was not going to delay them for too long.

'Nah, it can wait, come on let's go.' Aramis was delighted, though the fact that Porthos was prepared to forego breakfast, was not lost on him; nor was the indication that he had obviously been up all night.

Neither man spoke as they walked through the waking city. Paris was never truly still, even in the depths of the night; as well as the sounds from nocturnal animals, there were those humans who stalked the darkness to ply their trade or prey off those unfortunate enough to still be abroad at night. But, like most cities, it awoke early, and for many it was their busiest time of day, with deliveries arriving from outlying farms or the nearest ports. Market traders lay out their wares, making the most of the longer hours of daylight during spring – April was now close at hand, and the sun rose early.

Porthos thought it had been some time since he had heard Aramis remain quiet for so long, but he understood the man's mood and chose not to interrupt his thoughts. Both men quickened their stride the closer they got to the farrier's yard, both of them fearing they would find an empty stable.

Aramis dashed through the farrier's paraphernalia, heading straight for the stall where he prayed he would find Roger and, with luck, his master too. His heart soared when he recognised the proud black head nodding over the half door.

'Roger, good boy. Are you alone?' Aramis peered into the dim interior of the stable, but all he could make out was hay, no sleeping figure curled within. He stroked the horse's long velvet nose and turned to face Porthos. The big Musketeer did not need to ask, the look of anguish upon Aramis' face told him all he needed to know.

'Roger is here, so Athos will be in the city somewhere. We just 'ave to find him.' He slapped Aramis on the back, eliciting a wan smile. 'Where shall we begin?' Porthos attempted to sound positive. In Paris, looking for a man who did not wish to be found was almost impossible, but then Athos did not know anyone was looking for him. The two men appraised the busy street, where carts and horses all went about their business, unaware of the urgent search getting underway.

'I suppose, if the worst has happened, we may as well begin with the taverns,' Aramis acknowledged. 'I doubt 'e would have been best pleased after last night.' Porthos snorted in agreement.

'E didn't look exactly 'appy when 'e practically fell on top of us, and that was before the Red Guard showed up.' Aramis supported his friend's statement with a frown. 'May as well begin at the beginning. If 'e was desperate, he wouldn't have gone far,' Porthos surmised, unaware of just how accurate he was. 'Let us begin with our favourite establishment, The Red Barrel.'

It was horribly early to consume wine in the quantities Athos was intending – in fact half the bottle had vanished already, with another full cup disappearing rapidly after that. He did not even lift his head when the door opened, the devil could have entered, and he would not have given a damn. He did not want to care about anything, or anyone anymore; the pain of hurt and betrayal was simply too much to bear. Better to feel nothing, than live with a world of agony, so he was totally unprepared for the hand that stilled his goblet in mid-air.

'Woah, isn't it a little early for a wine breakfast?' Porthos' rumbling voice only just punctured the fog of self-pity that Athos was currently wallowing in, but he did not react, simply staring up at the big man, his face void of any emotion.

Aramis had been overjoyed when he had set eyes on the familiar leather-clad figure seated at the rear of the room, though the bowed head posture, along with the flagon of wine, was not a good sign at a little past eight in the morning. He glanced at Porthos and began to increase his pace, but the big man put out a restraining hand and shook his head. As they neared the table, Porthos stepped forward and, reaching for his friend's hand, halted the arc of the cup he was about to drain. When Athos lifted his head, both men felt the impact of the man's anguish like a physical blow. His eyes were red rimmed and his expression, though blank, showed a level of desolation they had never seen him display before. They had realised that he had been in a dark place when they had first met him, but it was nothing to the misery he exhibited now. Porthos almost physically recoiled, but kept his hand steady. Athos said nothing but shook off the restraint, draining what was left in the cup. He stared at the bottom, as if hoping for some revelation, some sign of what to do next, then appearing disappointed, reached for the bottle. When Porthos moved it away from his grasp, he was not ready for what happened next. The gesture was akin to placing a flame to a barrel of gunpowder – Athos exploded. He stood abruptly, his fist catching a completely unprepared Porthos in the jaw.

Athos obviously being intent on continuing his attack, Aramis finally sprang to life. The sight of his friend's sorrow had momentarily stunned him, but as Porthos lurched backward into the empty tables and Athos moved forward, instinct prevailed. He grabbed the man's arms, pinning them to his sides.

'Athos, it is Aramis. Stop! We have not come here to fight. Stop it!' Athos took no notice, it was as if he were somewhere else, fighting an invisible army, instead of a single Musketeer. Staggering to his feet, Porthos rubbed his jaw, his eyes filling with sorrow. He had underestimated Athos' state of mind, and he could see now that this was not just one more drunken night, this was something much worse.

He gazed intently into the man's eyes and what he saw terrified him more than anything he had ever faced before. They were empty – there was no emotion, no fear, no anger, nothing. Athos still struggled and Aramis was beginning to lose his grip.

'Athos, Athos, can you hear me?' Aramis was now shouting, having given up on subtlety. Porthos shook his head and approached the pair, whereupon Athos began to struggle all the more, and the big man raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

'I'm not sure he can hear you,' he managed, though his jaw was very tender – Athos always had packed quite a punch. Suddenly, just a he was considering knocking the man out for his own good, Athos slumped against Aramis' chest, all the fight vanishing from him in an instant, leaving just a shattered and empty shell held tightly in Aramis' arms. The two men exchanged worried expressions. Porthos came closer, but this time Athos did not react. He was not sure which was worse, angry Athos, or this version of the man, who appeared to be somewhere else entirely, completely unaware of his surroundings.

Aramis gently steered Athos to his seat and sat beside him whilst Athos continued to stare at the floor, his face expressionless.

'Athos, what has happened? Are you hurt?' For a moment Aramis panicked, for it would not be the first time the swordsman had concealed or played down an injury until it was almost too late. His eyes scanned the obvious parts he could see, but there was no sign of blood from a head injury, and none upon his hands. As he studied the long, elegant fingers, he noticed Athos turning and turning a ring, round and round, over and over. It was an object he had noted before, having had to remove it some months ago, when Athos had fallen from a third-floor window at the palace, sustaining many lacerations. Now the ring was back on, but he had never noticed Athos pay it any attention before. He surmised that the obsessive gesture was just another sign of the man's deep anxiety.

Aramis looked to Porthos for guidance. 'What should we do?' Porthos frowned, giving the question due thought.

'Will he come back to the garrison?' the big man asked hopefully. 'Perhaps Treville can get through to him.' The mention of the Captain's name seemed to penetrate Athos' mental trauma.

'No!' he croaked. Finally, he looked up at the two men. 'Please,' was all he said. Both Musketeers stilled, neither of them could remember ever hearing Athos say _please_. It was not that the man was rude – well not intentionally so – he just had a way of avoiding certain social graces mostly, it seemed, because he usually preferred to communicate by facial expression alone, rather than verbally. Now, the broken word emerging from the man's mouth was agonising to hear. Porthos sank down on Athos' other side, all three sitting in silence. Eventually, Athos sighed.

'I am sorry.' He did not look at Porthos in particular, and it was difficult to know what self-imposed crime he was apologising for. Leaving without saying goodbye? Not sending word he was well? Staying away? Or hitting Porthos in the face? Neither man wanted an apology for any of them. In the end it was Porthos who broke the impasse.

'I'm starvin', we missed breakfast hunting your sorry arse. Serge won't keep it warm for ever. How about we go back for sumthin' to eat? At the very least you can sit and watch.' Athos stirred slightly but said nothing. Aramis stood, whilst Porthos applied just the slightest pressure to Athos' elbow, encouraging him to stand also. For a moment, he remained immovable, then, without warning, suddenly became compliant and rose alongside the other two men. As they left the tavern, Athos pulled his hat low to block the glare from his tired and sore eyes. They walked as quickly as Athos would allow, Porthos still having hold of his friend's arm, as if he was not quite sure he would follow without being guided. When they approached the garrison archway, Athos halted. He stood appraising the home of the regiment he had been deemed unworthy of joining. Walking back inside was painful – another failure, another reminder of being rejected. A young woman passed close by, her derisive laugh echoing in the open space. Athos flinched, transported instantly back to the scene of his nightmares.

'_Why do you look so surprised husband? Did you think I loved you, did you really believe I would marry you _for love_? This... this is what I wanted, this house, this title, this estate – not you, _never you_. He was back in Pinion; he was standing in the meadow, she was dressed in white, small blue flowers in her hair. She was laughing, mocking him, rubbing his heartbreak in his face. The image wavered. Now she was crying, pleading. 'Athos, oh God, Athos, please. It is all lies. I love _you_, I have always loved you, I will only ever love you. No matter what you do to me, it will change nothing. You are murdering me for _nothing_. There is only the truth of _us_, nothing matters before us, and if I die you will have no future, there will only ever be us. Please God, do not do this!' He heard her cry, diminishing, echoing. Now there was mist, he was back in the alley again, she was stroking his face, his lips. He had her in his arms, real, solid – he was kissing her. Oh God! He was lost. _

Aramis had noted Athos' expression change to one of confusion, his eyes had closed, and a small groan of pain escaped his lips. Again, Aramis panicked, convinced his friend must be ill.

'Athos what is wrong, are you in pain?' Athos heard the question, and he wanted to laugh, it was funny, the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. _Was he in pain?_ No, he was not; he _was_ pain.

Both Musketeers now started to become alarmed, this was out of their experience, and Athos was slowly becoming more and more agitated. His eyes darted in all directions and his breathing was rapidly increasing. He turned to Aramis, his eyes full of anguish, grabbing hold of his jacket in both hands and gripping it tightly.

'Make her leave me alone. I do not know what she wants any more. I cannot go back, it is too late.' Suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and his legs buckled. Porthos, as always, was ready, halting Athos' fall before he could hit the floor. He glanced at Aramis, his face full of questions.

'Get him back to the garrison.' The two men dashed toward the archway, Porthos carrying an unconscious Athos over his shoulder. As they entered the garrison, Porthos turned towards the infirmary.

'No!' Aramis shouted, 'Take him to my room. He hates the infirmary, and in any case, I fear he has no physical injury that the infirmary can heal.' Porthos nodded, and together they bought Athos to the quiet of Aramis' room. It was near the chapel, a peaceful spot, and many a night he had been grateful for the uninterrupted silence the location had granted him. Now he was even more grateful. He had no idea what ailed Athos, but he did not wish the rest of the garrison to become aware of his friend's distress.

Treville had witnessed their arrival and followed close on their heels, reaching Aramis' room just after them.

'What happened?' he barked, not daring to look too closely, as had he seen Athos arrive back at the garrison half dead too many times. The fact they had not headed to the infirmary was encouraging, though the idea of him insensible this early in the morning was not encouraging either. 'Is he drunk?'

Porthos bridled, 'No 'e isn't, 'e's…' He glanced at Aramis, unsure what to say. Aramis waited as Porthos settled Athos on the bed, then began to unbutton his doublet, still needing to reassure himself he was not injured. No blood, no wound he could see, though he could clearly see Athos' ribs, that was for certain. He had not been eating, but then he hardly ever did, even when well. He felt around his head for signs of a bump, nothing. Sighing, he finally sat back on his heels.

'There does not appear to be any physical injury. I almost wish there were. I do not know what ails him.' Treville was losing patience.

'I ask again, what happened?' Porthos answered this time.

'I don't really know. We found 'im in the Red Barrel, 'e 'ad worked his way down a bottle of wine. 'E didn't speak, nothin'. I tried to stop 'im drinking anymore and 'e, 'e just erupted, then, just like that, 'e calmed down. Came away with us a meek as a kitten, though 'e still said nothin'. But his face...' Porthos paused, as if the memory were too painful. Aramis took up the story.

'Something has happened, but I do not know what, perhaps a trauma of some kind. He simply walked with us to the garrison, Porthos led him like a child.' Treville listened, horrified by the events unfolding before him. Aramis continued. 'We were almost at the garrison gates when he stopped, something changed, scared him, the gates perhaps.'

'No,' Porthos interrupted, 'It was not the gates, I think it was the woman.' He eyed Aramis, who looked puzzled. 'There was a woman, with a group of people, she was laughin'. 'E looked at her and 'is face changed. 'E left us, went somewhere else. Then 'e collapsed. It don't 'elp that 'e's probably starvin' and has a terrible 'angover. I can still smell last night's wine.' All three men eyed Athos and, as they did so, he began to stir.

'Give us a moment, gentlemen, if you please.' Treville ordered. Aramis hesitated but nodded his consent, and he and Porthos left the room.

Athos opened his eyes. For a moment his confusion returned – faces, names, laughing, crying, his head was so muddled. Gradually, things began to clear, one face remained constant, a face he recognised, respected, and trusted.

'Captain,' he managed to mutter. He began to raise himself up from the bed, but Treville placed a restraining arm on the young man's shoulder.

'Stay where you are, you look awful. When was the last time you ate?' Athos was taken aback, it was not the response he had expected. He appeared confused. Eaten? Why would he care about food?

Treville softened his approach, aware that he was taking out his own fear upon the man. 'What happened Athos? You were so much better.' He sat beside the bed, awaiting an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he sighed. That the young man harboured a bitter pain was evident by his face; his skin was pale, his eyes pink, and his dark hair and lashes only served to emphasise his lack of colour. 'Stay here and rest, I will instruct Serge to send up some food. Aramis and Porthos will stay with you. I will return later. Perhaps then you will feel like talking.' He placed his hand on Athos' shoulder. 'It is good to have you back, son.' As the Captain turned toward the door, Athos' eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly the garrison felt like a safe harbour in a terrible storm, one he could not ride, control or hope to overcome on his own.

As Treville left, so Aramis and Porthos entered. For the first time since they had encountered him in the tavern, Athos appeared to focus on them, and to realise that they were really there. Aramis was first in the room, over to the bed and holding Athos in a tight embrace. For a moment there was no reaction, then at last he returned the gesture, which was all the more poignant for its rarity – Athos never having before shown himself to be a tactile person. Porthos followed, hugging Athos to him as though he were a treasured possession. When they were done, all three simply stared at each other in silence.

'I hit you, I am sorry, I was not myself,' Athos whispered at last. Porthos smiled and rubbed his chin.

'That's alright. You pack quite a punch, next time I will just let you drink.' Athos gave the merest twitch of the lips but, after his behaviour earlier, it was tantamount to an exhibition of joy, and the two men took it as reassurance that he was going to be alright.

But once again Athos slipped back into silence, threatening to withdraw to that distant place once more. Aramis and Porthos exchanged nods.

'I'm going to find food, I'm starvin', thanks to you. I'll bring us sumthin' back and you will feel better.' Aramis smiled, understanding what the big man was trying to do. Once the door had closed, he pulled a chair up close and sat by the bed, where Athos was now leaning against the pillows. His face showed a little more colour, but he could hardly be described as a picture of health.

'So, mon ami, what is wrong? I suggest it is time, do you not think, that you explained to me the significance of the jasmine.'


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Aramis had been waiting to hold this conversation ever since he had denied smelling the fragrance of jasmine at the Château at Rambouillet, and he had felt guilty ever since. For a moment, he wondered if he had been in error bringing the subject up. As Athos looked at him in response to the statement, the expression on his face, initially one of shock, was followed by utter desperation.

Athos dropped his head and stared at his hands, turning the ring over and over once again. Aramis leant forward until their foreheads touched.

'I am not asking you to divulge your secrets, a man's past is his own, but the pain you are carrying is too heavy for one man, it is breaking you, Athos, tearing you apart from the inside. I am no stranger to that kind of agony, and believe me it helps to talk about it, to let a friend share the burden – if you do not, it will consume you.' Aramis spoke quietly and slowly, unsure whether or not Athos was listening. There was silence for a moment, and then the swordsman spoke.

'It is my burden to carry, of my own creation, I should feel the pain, it is part of who I am, of whom I have become.' The voice that spoke was not the Athos they had come to know. Gone was the insolent tone, with the confident arrogance that made him stand out from many of the regiment – now it was ragged and broken, as though the words were being torn from his throat. Aramis searched for the right advice to give, aware that, if he took the wrong path, Athos would retreat inside himself and they would have lost the chance to reach him.

'It is obvious something of great import has occurred, mon ami, I do not believe this is the result of what happened here at the garrison. Though wrong and unfair, I believe you were strong enough to weather the disappointment. I believe this is something more powerful. I ask you again, is it the woman with the jasmine scent?' He waited, his heart beating fast. If Athos refused to talk now, he did not know how else to get through to him. Raising his head Athos held Aramis' gaze.

'I do not how… how to begin.' His eyes held the pleading quality of a frightened child, and Aramis could not contain his compassion. He pulled Athos into a tight embrace and felt the man sink his head onto his shoulder, the man's body shuddering as though wracked with a fever. Aramis held him until he appeared to calm, then released him slowly, until he could look into his eyes.

'I will not judge you Athos. I know the kind of man you are and nothing you can say will change that. I fear that whatever haunts you, you have judged yourself too harshly.' Athos listened to Aramis' declaration. This time he could not help the snort of derision, his response to the inaccuracy of the statement. _Judged yourself too harshly_, how could he admit to his list of crimes and Aramis not think ill of him? Yet to share the burden would be a blessing, to speak of his wrongdoings aloud and feel them leave the dark room, where he kept them locked inside his soul. Perhaps once they were free, they would not return, maybe it would let in the light, and he would feel the weight of the guilt lift from his heart. Could it help? How would he even begin to tell the story? There were parts he was not yet ready to reveal; his identity was his own, it was not relevant, it was of no import.

Aramis waited patiently, aware of the chasm Athos needed to cross in order to say the words he needed to say, to enable him to share his load. He walked over to the cupboard, reached for a bottle of wine and, pouring it into two cups, he passed one to Athos. The swordsman did not drink the liquid, though he nodded his appreciation; instead he simply held it, watching the blood red wine as if its presence alone would supply him with the strength he needed. The silence lengthened, but still Aramis stayed unmoving, sipping his own drink in an attempt to make his friend feel relaxed. Then Athos took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

'I once told you there was a woman. I loved her very much – no, that is wrong…' he paused, considering the statement. 'She was everything, our love consumed us, controlled everything we did, said, wanted. We were not whole if we were not together, apart we were diminished. I neglected the rest of my life – it was nothing compared to being with her. What we had was so powerful it was like being caught up in a storm. Perhaps it was not meant to last, could not continue, maybe there was too much passion for one mind to contain. Then, out of the blue, she betrayed me, betrayed my trust, my love for her. She committed a most heinous crime, for which she had to pay.'

His voice was beginning to break, but Aramis dared not intervene, so enthralled in by the tale as he was. 'She died by my hand, I had no choice.' He almost cried the words, holding his head in his hands as though the memory was too heavy to hold inside his mind. 'I watched her die, and my world died with her… No, that is not accurate. I did not see her lifeless body, did not even have the courage to stay with her until the end; I could not face the result of my actions.

'For two years I thought she was dead. Only at night did she come to me, smiling, crying, screaming my name, blaming me for her end, begging me to forgive her, declaring her love, over and over, until the dark became a torment I could no longer endure. Then I came to Paris. At the flogging I thought I saw her in the crowd, then I would smell her scent in an empty room, on the evening breeze. I thought I was going mad, that my guilt was getting a revenge of its own. Until I saw her.' He looked at Aramis now, his voice taking on a new sense of urgency, almost madness.

'I was in an alley in the city, it was evening, and a mist was hanging in the air. She began to walk toward me. I was numb, thinking she must be a spectre, coming to drag me with her to hell. Then she was standing right before me – as close as you are now – solid, pale and beautiful, her smile just as before. When she reached out to touch me, I was prepared for the cold hand of death to chill my bones. Cold she was, but her skin was soft, palpable, she was as whole as you and I. When she spoke to me, it was not the broken nonsense of a dream, but real words.

'Then, I do not know what happened, but she was in my arms.' The urgency had gone from his voice, and he was slowly rocking to and fro, wrapping his arms around himself, as if to prevent his body from breaking apart. 'When I kissed her, she was warm, just as before, I could not deny her; so long had I thought her dead, so long had I been alone. The need was as powerful as it had always been, the very fires of hell could not be more consuming. Just as I was becoming lost in her once more, she was gone. I do not know what I did, but she pulled away; she was terrified, she turned and ran. I could not follow, I could not do anything.

'Now I know I was wrong, she is not dead, not a cold corpse lying in the ground, she is alive and whole. She hates me, I know, as part of me hates her. But there is still love, I know it, I feel it again as I once did, but I do not know how to deal with it, with her. How can we exist? How can we go on, two parts of the same whole, needing, wanting to be reunited with the other half of ourselves, yet at the same time repulsed at the very thought of it, afraid of going back, of feeling again? What do I do, how can I stay, how can I go on?' The final question came out as a strangled whisper. Athos held on to Aramis' arms, beseeching him to supply an answer, yet knowing there was none – knowing he was lost.

Aramis was speechless. He guessed there was so much more Athos had not disclosed – the story was full of gaps – but he had heard enough to begin to understand the man he saw before him. The man who spent his nights writhing in mental agony, who preferred to drink himself into oblivion rather than subject himself to his darkened visitations. That a man like Athos would love with a ferocity that was close to obsession, did not surprise him. He was a man who appeared calm and removed, but Aramis understood that his controlled demeanour hid a tempestuous nature, and that he would love with a powerful passion was again no surprise. The story, however, was a tragic tale, full of torment and desperation, and now he understood why Athos was so torn apart, so damaged. To believe her dead for all those years, then to suddenly see her appear out of the mist, only to fall back so easily into the need for her that he had felt in his former life. He could almost feel the soul-wrenching agony that emitted from the man, but what terrified Aramis more, was knowing how to help him. What did a man say to another who had experienced such emotional trauma? What answer could he give him? What hope?

Athos was exhausted. He had observed the marksman's expression closely, as Aramis' face reflected the horror he felt as he had told his story. He watched as his friend began to withdraw, as he began to understand the monster he saw before him. Athos was not surprised, what else had he expected? He had been wrong, he did not feel unburdened, there was no light in that dark, locked room, just jeering laughter at his own naivety, his childish desperation for forgiveness. He would not be forgiven – absolution was not for men such as him. Aramis was a good man, he would try to speak the necessary words to make his friend feel better, but inside he would recoil, sickened by the inhumane treatment Athos had doled out to the woman he had purported to love.

His head throbbed and his stomach threatened to revolt; he collapsed back onto the bed, his eyes suddenly heavy and tired. Aramis was talking, words that sounded soothing and kind, his hands stroking the strands of hair that stuck to his warm cheeks, to the tracks of his tears. He heard the rhythmic sound of Aramis' voice, but the words held no meaning, and they drifted away down a dark tunnel until there was nothing but silence.

Aramis was glad Athos had fallen asleep, as it was obvious that the man was thoroughly exhausted. He waited a moment or two, until he was sure the swordsman was not going to awaken, before slipping quietly out of the room. Porthos had been waiting outside, as he had realised that Athos was unlikely to talk in front of both of them. He understood that Aramis and the swordsman had a particular bond, and that Athos would talk to Aramis, and then allow the marksman to pass the information on to him. Athos was not a man who liked an audience, so he had stood outside the room waiting patiently. He may have slipped down to the refectory for some bread and cheese, but then Athos would not expect him to starve.

When Aramis finally emerged from the room he did not need to speak.

'That bad?' Porthos asked, looking at his friend's face. Aramis nodded, still unable to find the words to explain what he had heard.

As the two men stood on the balcony, Porthos placed his hand on Aramis' shoulder, the solid weight reassuring, grounding Aramis back into the reality of the garrison and away from Athos' haunted nightmares.

'I think I can only communicate this once,' Aramis admitted quietly, 'so perhaps it would be better to tell it in the Captain's office.' Porthos raised a brow, but said nothing, simply turning around and heading back down the stairs to the courtyard.

Treville heard the knock upon the door, and something about it put him on edge. Two men had approached the door, and he could only assume it was Porthos and Aramis, yet the knock had been reluctant, unlike the usual exuberance shown by the two Musketeers. The sound was almost reverent, causing him to fear that the news would not be good.

'Come.' Aramis heard the usual command and opened the door, and as he went to enter the room, he knew that he would rather be doing anything other than what he was about to do now. To repeat the details Athos had just shared with him simply felt wrong. Even though there had been no entreaty to keep the information to himself, no plea for secrecy, he still felt that he was betraying a trust, betraying a man who had already been so badly damaged by treachery.

They trooped inside, Aramis standing in front of the Captain's desk, Porthos next to him. Treville, like Porthos, took one look at Aramis' face and knew that something was wrong. He instructed the two men to sit, and poured three glasses of brandy whilst he sat awaiting the news. Aramis stared into his glass in much the way that Athos had done. Was this how his friend had felt, when he was trying to find the words to tell a story he knew would be as painful to hear as it was to relate? He swallowed the brandy and began to talk, the whole story tumbling out in a torrent of anguish and sorrow. When he had finished, he stared down at his empty glass, as if he, too, shared some of Athos' own self-inflicted guilt.

Porthos had tears in his eyes. For a big man he had an even bigger heart, and though he had not heard Athos tell his tale, the misery Aramis obviously felt told its own story. Treville said nothing at all, his face a stoic mask.

He had listened to the story appalled. Of course, he was in possession of other pieces of the puzzle – he knew about Athos' title, his obligations, the murdered brother. He ran his hands through his hair. Now it all began to fit, to make sense. No wonder the boy had fled.

Athos, so enamoured with this woman, had neglected everything else around him – his estate, his responsibilities, his own brother. She must have been the one to commit murder, must have been. Athos, as the law in that territory, would have had no choice but to condemn her, to sentence her to hang. That guilt alone would be enough to finish most men, but to lose a beloved brother too, one he obviously loved, had been the final straw. He carried both of their deaths around with him as if he carried their very carcasses. How he must have felt when he realised, she had evaded his punishment, he could not imagine. What did she want with him? Was breaking him her revenge, or did she believe she could win him back? What a bloody mess. No wonder Athos had become the man he was, most men would have crawled under a rock and never come out. Thank God the young man was better than that.

Aramis and Porthos sat waiting for Treville to comment. Time appeared to stand still, as all three men ached for their friend. Then the Captain reached a decision. Athos had told Aramis what he felt needed to be said. He had kept his identity and the details of the crime to himself, and therefore it was not Treville's place to pass on to the two men the additional information he himself held. If Athos chose to disclose it, so be it, but he would say nothing.

Somehow, Athos was aware he was asleep, but where his heart should have been beating slowly, and his breathing deepening with the onset of the rest he so sorely needed, his heart pulsed rapidly, and his breaths were shallow. His body tensed, as if anticipating the cries and accusations he knew would come, the clawed grasping hands attempting to drag him down to share their pit of despair. Instead there was silence, his heart began to slow, his breathing became regular, and he allowed himself to relax, to let down his guard. Whilst they remained silent, he would sleep, and be free, for a short time at least.

When he awoke, the sun was streaming in through the window. Outside he could hear the familiar sound of swordplay, amidst cries, as the men sparred and shouted words of encouragement to each other. The loud rumble of laughter he knew so well, indicated some poor wretch had just succumbed to Porthos' idea of sparring. He could not help the slightest curl of his lip in recognition of the big man's humour, though his eyes still bore the trace of anguish from before. His head felt like it belonged to him now, but his throat was so dry he could hardly swallow. On the table beside the bed stood the cup of wine Aramis had poured for him earlier. Reaching for it to slake his thirst, the recollection of his revelation exploded in his mind, hitting him like a physical blow. His hand shook as he replaced the cup, and it had nothing to do with his hangover. He could see his friend's shocked face – the horror and disappointment – following the telling of his story.

Athos closed his eyes tight, as if he could obliterate the scene from his mind's eye, but Aramis' sad eyes still burned bright in the darkness of his memory. His body told him to curl up, block out the sounds of laughter from the men below, hide away and shut out the world, but somewhere in the deepest recess of his soul, was a spark that refused to die. It was definitely neither pride nor respect, for he could not bear to catch his own reflection in the mirror, for fear he would see a coward, unworthy of either. Perhaps it was stubbornness, something inside that simply refused to lay down and die, something that forced him to keep drawing breath – whether he wanted to or not.

Rising from the bed, Athos buttoned his doublet and buckled his weapons belt and, pulling his hat firmly down over his eyes, he straightened his shoulders and left the room, preparing his battered heart for the rejection he expected was to come.

Aramis sat at the table, watching Porthos as he threw cadet, after cadet to the ground, each time emitting a roar of laughter at their surprised expressions, the mystified young men not entirely sure how they had ended up in such an undignified position.

Aramis heard footsteps upon the stair and turned, and was amazed to see Athos walking toward him. Though his face registered no emotion, it was an improvement on the last time Aramis had seen him. Though he had no doubt it still remained, at least Athos' pain was for now kept hidden. He jumped from the bench and went to meet him.

'Athos, I thought you were resting.' Before the swordsman could say or do anything to stop him, Aramis had him in a tight embrace. Though brief, it made Athos' heart soar, and as he studied his friend's face for any sign of distaste or rejection, he realised there was none, only joy. Porthos, abandoning his current victim, bounded over, he too pulling a rather shell-shocked Athos into a bear hug, almost crushing him in his exuberance.

'Bout time you put in an appearance. This lot,' he said, indicating the gaping cadets, 'don't know one end of a sword from another. Do you Guinot?' he shouted to one particularly gangly lad. The boy in question managed a grin, though his expression acknowledged the accuracy of Porthos' judgement. Some of the cadets had been lucky enough to receive Athos' tuition before he had left, though one or two were new to the regiment, Guinot amongst them. For a moment, Athos was too stunned to reply, then he quirked a brow and gave the old twitch of his lips. There was something about the smell of the garrison that was a balm to his soul, and right now he needed all the help he could get.

Aramis and Porthos practically held their breath, and Treville, who had overheard the conversation, decided to finish what Porthos had started.

'Guinot, Le Brun, show Athos how you fight.' The two young men leapt to attention and drew their swords, then, with a last look at the surly newcomer, they began to circle each other like a pair of street fighters. All three men watched Athos to see if he would take the bait, for they knew watching poor swordplay was as painful to the man as drawing a knife from a wound. They each guessed he would not be able maintain his aloof air of detachment for long. Gradually, his expression began to change, first a frown, then a deep scowl. His hand rested on the hilt of his own sword and, if had they been able to make a bet without Athos noticing, money would surely have changed hands by now.

Athos watched as the two young men made a complete mess of their fight, each of them making it quite obvious to the other when he intended to lunge or strike – they might as well have been following the steps of a dance. He realised what Porthos and the Captain were doing, and he appreciated it, though he was also aware that they were trying to draw him back into the role they had promised him before, and he knew, deep down, that he could not take it. But with just one pair of cadets, he could at least end the painful display he was being forced to endure.

Removing his hat and doublet, Athos began to move, and it was all Aramis and Porthos could do not to declare their victory to the rooftops. Athos pulled his sword from its sheath and glared at the two Musketeers.

'Do not, for one minute, think I do not know what the pair of you are up to. I will deal with them, and then I will deal with you.' He swaggered across the courtyard, indicating that the two cadets should desist.

'I have to hand it to you, mon ami, that was a stroke of genius,' Aramis admitted to the grinning Porthos. Both men looked up at the Captain. He was also smiling down at the man, who was now berating the two cadets in the middle of the courtyard. He caught the two Musketeers' eyes and they exchanged nods of satisfaction.

After a mild yet pertinent reminder of the rules of swordplay, Athos began to show the two young men the error of their ways. One after the other, he sparred with them both, a small circle of onlookers becoming a larger one. Even experienced Musketeers enjoyed watching Athos fight, despite the fact it was only with a wide-eyed cadet. When he had finished, he shook both the boys' hands and elicited firm promises from them that they would practise.

Aramis and Porthos noted the look in his eyes as he slowly walked toward them, swishing his sword in the air before him.

Porthos' smile wavered. 'You don't think…?'

Aramis beamed. 'Oh, I am afraid I think he is.'

As Athos bought his sword up in front of him, both Musketeers prepared to defend themselves, appearing far too delighted for men who were about to square up to Athos. The swordsman raised a brow then lunged at an off balance Porthos, almost bringing him down with his first blow.

Treville laughed as he watched the display unfold below him. In the nicest possible way, Athos was wiping the floor with his two best men. He had no intention of hurting them, but he _was_ going to make them sweat – and they were loving it.


	7. Chapter 7

Please note, I am no medical expert, so the idea of food poisoning developing into typhoid fever, is based on its later connection with salmonella. I needed the regiment to be depleted, without there being any suggestion of it being targeted. This appeared to be a good solution, so forgive me for taking liberties.

**Chapter 7**

The three men collapsed onto the bench. Aramis and Porthos smiled broadly, both men completely drained, but happy. Serge appeared as if by magic, placing a tray of food and drink on the table.

'Don't expect this kind of service on a regular basis – it's for 'im,' he said, indicating a bemused Athos. 'It's good to see you again, son,' he added, patting the swordsman on the shoulder. 'And it's good to see them smile and mean it for a change.' With that, he ambled back to his sanctuary, leaving the three men strangely silent. The cadets continued to chat and train in the background, only emphasising the lack of conversation around the table – even Porthos only stared at the food before him.

Athos understood the inference behind the old man's words; up until now, he had never fully dared to consider the impact his leaving had had upon his friends. Now there was a huge gulf growing between them, and he knew he was the only one who could close it. He looked at the two Musketeers and desperately sought the words that would repair the damage he had done – sorry was pathetically inadequate – only a complete explanation would suffice. He took a deep breath and spoke.

'When you appeared in my life, I was adrift, without an anchor, with nothing and nobody to direct my purpose. Then, without warning, I awoke one morning to find that had all changed, and for the first time in a long while I had others to consider. Although the feeling was vague at first, it began to grow, to form a reason to be alive.

'When Treville offered me the chance to join the regiment it was a lifeline, but I was afraid to take it. I was scared it would slip from my grasp, and that I would not be able to keep afloat anymore, that I would simply drown. So I took a chance, and not only did I found a purpose, I found companionship too – more than I had ever dared. I discovered people who cared, and no matter how hard I pushed, they kept pushing back, making _sure_ I stayed afloat. Then I made the ultimate mistake – I began to believe I could offer something in return, that I could become part of a whole once more.'

He paused, struggling to explain his desperate fear and need. Aramis and Porthos were captivated. Long speeches were not Athos' forte and they could see he was finding this difficult – but they understood he needed to do this, and they needed to hear it. Athos gazed at the two men, deep sorrow in his eyes.

Composed once more, he continued. 'When it all fell apart, I… I was angry – not with you, not with Treville, not even with the King, but with myself. Angry that I had sought something, acknowledged the need for something more than I had become – had dared to believe I could find it here. I could not have said goodbye, I could not have looked you in the eye and admitted my failure, could not have listened to your entreaties for me to stay. I was coward. I will not apologise, it would not be enough, simply another inadequacy; but understand that it was not… it was not because I did not care, only that I had begun to care too much.'

Athos stared at his hands. He could not make eye contact with the two men sitting opposite, but instead looked across the courtyard, and was surprised to find it empty. So engrossed had all three men been, they had not noticed the others leave to take refreshment in the refectory.

Aramis and Porthos were stunned. They knew Athos lacked faith in his own worth, but that he really believed himself such an abject failure was astonishing. Admonishing him would be futile, it would achieve nothing. He was trying to explain and to apologise, they accepted this, but how to show him they understood was a different matter. All they could do was try to prove to him that he did have worth – starting with just how much he was worth to them.

It was Porthos who made the first move. 'I was angry, too, and though I can't believe you could be so stupid, I do understand. However, if you ever do that again…' He paused for a moment, and it was Athos who finished his sentence.

'You can shoot me. It will probably be for the best.' Porthos looked at the swordsman, about to berate him, but when he saw the spark of mischief in Athos' eyes, the big man began to chortle.

'I will leave that to Aramis. I will just hit you first, to make myself feel better!' Aramis joined in the laughter, but Athos simply smiled.

'It is a bargain,' he stated quietly. Aramis placed his hand over Athos', and Porthos rested his on top.

'All for one …' the marksman whispered.

'… and one for all,' Athos responded, thanking the two men in the only way he knew how.

'You three, up here, now.' The command could not have come at a better moment, before they succumbed to blubbering. The three of them rose in unison and, with a shrug of his shoulders, Aramis indicated that he had no idea why they were being summoned. They filed up the staircase one behind the other, Athos bringing up the rear.

Treville sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers upon the one space not hidden under a mound of paper. Once the three men were stood before him, he began to speak.

'I have made some discreet enquiries into the events of last night.' He glanced at Athos who, as usual, was giving nothing away. The other two men shuffled slightly, and he realised they had not yet discussed it between them.

'You may not be aware, Athos, but when you ejected those two men from the tavern last night, you were being watched.' He smiled slightly, as he saw realisation dawn upon the swordsman's face.

Athos rolled his eyes. 'So that is why you came looking for me.' Now he understood why they had not been surprised to find him in the tavern that morning – it had not been a coincidence.

'We did not want to intervene, as you appeared to have it under control,' Aramis explained. Then we were interrupted and, like you, decided to make a speedy exit, especially as we had no idea what had occurred.' Athos nodded in understanding, amazed he had not noticed them. Treville continued.

'No men answering to your description were admitted to the Châtelet, last night. The Red Guard have no facility to hold prisoners in their own compound, so they would have had no choice but to pass them on to the prison. It appears they did not.' He let the statement hang in the air for the three men to digest. It was Athos who spoke up.

'Are you suggesting the Red Guard were involved somehow?' he asked the Captain. He did not express surprise at the suggestion, merely wanting to clarify the inference he detected in Treville's account of events.

The Captain smirked. 'It is not for me to say. I really do not know fully what occurred, nor what the two men may have been accused of – if anything.' Athos nodded, realising it was up to him to explain; it would appear this was the day for explanations, but he dearly hoped that this would be the last of them. He gave a succinct account of the events leading up to the encounter outside the tavern, as only Athos could, and the three men listened carefully. There was rarely any need to intervene with Athos' recall of a situation – if he was not telling it now, then it was not for telling at all… whatever his reasons. However, in this instance there seemed he had left little out. It all made sense, and they were left wondering what had become of the two men. Again, it was Athos who took up the conversation.

'They would have needed medical attention,' he stated quietly.

Porthos snorted. 'The Red Guard are hardly likely to worry about an injured prisoner,' he observed.

'No, but they might if they had been one of their own,' Athos replied, adopting a smug expression. Treville frowned in consternation.

'You actually believe the two men were Guards?' the Captain asked. Athos grew serious. He seemed thoughtful.

'I had my suspicions. There was something orderly in the way they went about their collections. On the occasions I witnessed them, they never showed any sign of expecting trouble, never kept watch to ensure no Guard or Musketeer was present. If I had been part of a pair, I would have had one man keep watch whilst I made the collection, but that was never the case. They did not expect trouble.' Treville listened to the observation and nodded, it was nowhere near conclusive, but it was an interesting point.

'Well, if they follow their usual pattern, nothing will happen now until the end of the month, so we must bide our time. Make some discreet enquiries, but then hope to catch them in the act. Athos, we will need you to stay at the garrison in order to identify the two men. And whilst you are here, I take it you will make yourself useful as you just did?' He was not going to ask the man to stay – he knew it was a difficult subject– but this way, he had given the young man no choice. Athos stared at the Captain, merely nodding his agreement, and the other two men could hardly contain their joy.

'Well go and find something useful to do you two, I need to speak with Athos.' The two men happily left the room. Athos would have to stay at least until the end of the month, and they would make it count. Once outside Porthos began to chuckle.

'You do realise 'e has said more today than 'e did in the first three months that we knew 'im?

'Do you think it is a new Athos?' Aramis asked, stupefied.

'Nah.' Porthos shook his head. 'Doubt he will say anything for the next two weeks, to make up for it!' Aramis snorted, both men chuckling at the thought of Athos having used up his quota of conversation for the next few weeks in just one day.

Inside the Captain's office, Athos' heartbeat rapidly increased. Please, no more explanations. Suddenly he felt drained; he had not eaten or drunk anything, excluding wine, for days and, after the vigorous exercise in the yard, his legs threatened to buckle. Treville noted the young man's complexion pale, and guessed that he feared the conversation to come.

'Sit. That's an order.' He did not wait for Athos to point out he was not a Musketeer, but left the room and shouted over the banister to the cadets below: 'Tell Serge we need food and drink for two. My office.' He returned to his desk confident that his orders would be carried out to the letter. If the truth be told, he was not at all hungry, having had breakfast not so long ago, but he knew that even if Athos were to eat, he certainly would not do so alone. Like many who knew the man, he often wondered what kept the swordsman alive.

'We have a situation,' Treville informed the sallow young man. 'Your arrival is most timely, as I admit another pair of eyes would be most helpful.' He deliberately avoided Athos' stare, giving him time to realise he was not about to be admonished or interrogated. When he looked up, there was more colour in Athos' face, though he was still pale, but then he always was. However, there was a gleam of relief in his eyes, and Treville knew he had read the young man right.

'The King has decided that there are those amongst the nobility who were conspicuous by their absence from the party. Added to which, rumours of ill health and injury abound, and he is most upset.' A raised brow accompanied the comment, and Athos gave a chuckle, well imagining the King's reaction to such gossip.

'He has decided, much to the Cardinal's horror, and mine, I might add, that a small tour is in order. He feels that burdening those responsible with hosting their majesties, and their associated entourage, for however long he wishes, will make them toe the line, or bankrupt them, whichever is the most effective.' Athos, continued to smile, whether at the King's childish behaviour or the Cardinal's discomfort, he was not sure.

'That leaves the regiment with a real headache. Obviously, the King wishes the Musketeers to be his escort, but how long the journey will last, is impossible to tell. It could be months, or it may come to an end following the first bad meal or uncomfortable bed, who knows? However, we are not leaving until the end of the month, though that day approaches fast. Aramis suggested sending Musketeers to the various destinations, in order to get a better idea of routes and possible dangers, as well as establishing who to expect in residence, and who not to expect.' Athos smiled at his friend's perspicacity.

'An excellent idea,' he stated, waiting for the rest of the story. There was a problem, and he would give Treville the opportunity to explain. However, fate intervened, and it was down to a poor cadet to impart the news. A sudden knock at the door caused both men to turn.

'Come,' came the answering bark, and the young cadet Guinot entered the room. He gave Athos a nod of acknowledgment before turning to Treville. Guinot offered no smile, obviously not particularly delighted to be the one delivering the message. Treville waited, frowning at the young man's hesitation.

'Go ahead, Guinot. The tradition of beheading the messenger died out many years ago,' Athos offered as encouragement. The young man smiled and straightened slightly.

'Sir, the infirmarian says you are to come as quickly as you can… if you please… sir,' he added, not sure if the message was appropriate in its current form. Treville took in the young man's demeanour, and with increased concern, he beckoned to Athos.

'Come.' Both men followed the cadet down the stairs and across the courtyard. Aramis and Porthos, working with the young men in the yard, noted their journey across the open space and, after exchanging a brief look of concern, followed them. They arrived close on the two men's heels, just in time to hear the medic issue his dire opinion.

'They were bought in supposedly suffering from some form of stomach problem, the result of badly prepared food. However, whatever the source, I now have to conclude we are dealing with typhoid fever. We have just lost Blaize, and I fear we may lose more before the end of the day and, worse still, two more cases have just been bought in.' Treville stared at the man totally disbelievingly. Dead? But they had simply eaten bad food. Snapping to attention, the stunned Captain demanded:

'What do we do?' The infirmarian shook his head.

'We quarantine the infirmary. No visitors to those already sick and bring food and other necessities no further than the door. Blaize had been ill recently, and his resistance may have already been low. With luck, those on the brink may have more good fortune, but Le Grand is fading. We also need to know where they have been.' He did not elaborate; the inference was enough. Treville turned to the three men at his side. 'Round up the men.' Athos, Aramis and Porthos moved as one. Within minutes the entire garrison was lined up beneath the balcony outside the Captain's office.

'Men, we have a situation. Two days ago, ten men left the garrison fit and well. Within several hours they were confined to the infirmary with suspected poisoning from something they had eaten, or drunk. I am sorry to inform you that Blaize has since died from this infection,' He paused to allow the shock of his news to sink in. 'The rest of the party are still severely ill, and we may yet lose more men. The infirmary is off limits and, as of now, all food, drink and medical supplies are to be left at the door. Meals will be taken in your rooms and any existing supplies will be destroyed.' He ran his hands through his hair at the thought of the expense of replacing all the provisions already opened, not to mention Serge's reaction.

'Those of you who have had any dealings with the men inside the infirmary, I ask that you confine yourself to your rooms for the next twenty-four hours, by which time any symptoms should have become apparent. If any of those affected live outside the garrison, rooms will be made available and your kin will be notified. Those of you who have had no contact with the men, stay where you are. Cadets, you can go to your quarters for the present, and await instructions.' He noted roughly ten or twelve men had reacted to his directive of self-quarantine – which meant at least twenty-five of his men out of action in all.

'Athos, Porthos, Aramis, my office.' Treville turned from the rail and disappeared inside, where he paced back and forth, digesting the possible outcome of the latest catastrophe.

The three men swept into the room, Athos in the lead – a total change from their last entrance. Had the situation not been so serious, Treville would have smiled at the return of the familiar formation.

'Find where they went. My understanding is it was Belvoir's birthday – start there, and whilst you are making enquiries, you may also uncover other items of interest.' Athos nodded in understanding, and the three men left without uttering a word. With one man dead and many more ill, it was not a time for humour or superficial banter.

Once outside, Porthos and Aramis disappeared to find out if anyone knew where the birthday celebrations had been held, leaving Athos alone for the first time in several hours. He closed his eyes and made the most of the moment of solitude. It had been a long time since he had been around so many people who actually expected him to interact with them – he was out of practice and had forgotten how tiring it could be. The food Treville had sent for had not had time to arrive, and he had to admit that his body was beginning to feel the effect.

Aramis and Porthos raced back across the yard, their faces indicating that they now had somewhere to begin.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Aramis talked as they walked, Porthos and Athos striding alongside, listening intently.

'According to Lemarché, he was supposed to attend the celebrations with them but had fallen badly during the afternoon's sparring, twisting an ankle; luckily for him, he decided resting it was more important. Anyway, he told me that Gallét had something planned, something he thought would be highly entertaining. He was not sure what it was, but he overheard him talking about The Peacock. Now I have not frequented the inn – it is a fairly recent establishment compared with many taverns in Paris –but I do believe they run another form of business in the rooms behind. I could hazard a guess at Gallét's idea of a surprise; Belvoir is a green lad of nineteen, and if the rumours about The Peacock are true, he would have had the shock of his life.'

Porthos began to chuckle and Athos gave the slightest twitch of his lips. Gallét was a good soldier, but his idea of a joke often went too far. Still, he was a good man at heart, and they did not like to think of him suffering so badly for a birthday prank.

As they walked along one of Paris' main streets, the three men fell silent, content to be together again, at least for now.

March was coming to an end and April would soon be upon them. The air was beginning to lose the chill of winter, bright sun warming one's face, promising the return of summer. Of course, the passing of March also heralded something else – the onset of the King's tour.

The Peacock was an old and fairly dilapidated building, certainly not somewhere you would expect to find a party of Musketeers; they halted outside the entrance sensing something was wrong. Though some taverns stayed open day and night, most closed eventually, if only to allow the owners to take stock and get some rest. But business was money, and to find a tavern closed at this time of day was unheard of.

'What do ya think?' Porthos enquired, a wary look on his face.

'Knocking cannot hurt,' Aramis replied, ever the optimist. He looked to Athos for confirmation and the man gave a slight nod. Stepping forward, Aramis rapped hard upon the door, then stood and listened. The only noise came from the street behind them – there was no sound from within. Aramis tried again, this time beating at the door with his fist. Silence for a moment, then the faint sound of furniture being shifted behind the solid oak. The door latch lifted, and slowly it opened, just enough to allow an ashen face to peer out into the bright sunlight. The three men took in the appearance of the young girl, who had limp yellow hair and wide pale eyes.

'We aint open, the landlord's sick.' She whispered the statement as though it were a secret, her frightened eyes darting from one man to the other and then toward the street beyond, as if to ensure nobody was listening.

'What are his symptoms?' Aramis asked. Urgency was evident in his tone, though he attempted not to frighten the girl any further. She hesitated for a second and Aramis thought she was considering shutting the door. 'Do not worry, we will not hurt you or bring you trouble. How many people are ill?' The girl looked as though she was about to cry.

'Everyone, 'cept me and Mary.' A stray tear slid down her face and suddenly she looked very young indeed. If the rumours surrounding The Peacock were true, the three men could guess what she was doing in the less than salubrious establishment.

'How many is that?' Aramis urged as kindly as his patience would allow. The girl wrinkled her forehead as she struggled with the question.

'There's Monsieur Vert and 'is wife, then there's the girls, five of 'em. They's all sick. But I think there may be more. Madame Vert thought it was the food, and we sold out of food on Saturday, we was real busy.' She looked terrified, as though, with everyone else sick, the blame would fall on her. Aramis was gently pushed aside, and Athos approached the girl. Her eyes flickered for a moment, he did not have a kind face, and when he spoke the girl looked as though she was about to flee.

'Where do you get your water from?' As usual no preamble, straight to the point, though she seemed slightly relieved by the simplicity of the question.

'Out back, we have a well.' She looked from Athos back to Aramis, hoping one of them might relieve her of the problem. It was Aramis who spoke.

'Keep them comfortable and try and make them drink, not water but tea. Do you have tea?' The girl nodded, taking in every word as though her life depended upon it – which it possibly did. 'Other than that, try and have as little contact with them as possible. Do you understand?' Again, she gave a slight nod of her head. 'I will try and get a doctor to attend, but I cannot promise.' Aramis looked downcast, not at all convinced he would find anyone who would bother to come out and help those within. By the time he shook off the depressing notion that those afflicted were likely to be left to suffer alone, he realised the girl had withdrawn inside and shut the door; not only that but Athos was no longer with them.

He turned to Porthos, who nodded his head toward the alleyway at the side of the building, before turning and following after Athos. The two men headed down the dark, filthy passageway just in time to see Athos turn the corner toward the rear of the tavern. As they approached, the stench of rotting food and rubbish was overwhelming, and they fought the urge to cover their noses. At the end of the narrow enclosure they found Athos surveying the small patch of land they now found themselves in. Several rats scurried to escape the human invasion of their territory, their small feet scratching upon the hard dirt of the floor.

'Urgh, I 'ate rats,' Porthos growled, stamping his large boots down hard upon the floor as if to emphasise his point, as well as ensuring they stayed well away.

'This is Paris, mon ami, it is hard to avoid them,' Aramis pointed out, grinning at his friend's obvious discomfort.

'We need to find this well,' Athos stated, rooting around amongst the long grass. As they rounded the pile of refuse, a well-worn path became apparent and the opening of the well emerged. Surrounded by a wall about waist-high, the shaft was roughly six hand-widths across. The wall was in poor repair, suggesting that the rubbish piled high against it could probably be found at the bottom of the shaft on a far too regular basis.

Athos leant over the dark well and wrinkled his nose. 'This water probably comes from the Seine; God knows what lies at the bottom.' The other two men concurred, holding their hands over their mouths.

Convinced they had discovered the source of their colleague's illness, there was little else they could achieve. Treville may be able to summon the help of a physician, but it was unlikely he would offer much in the way of assistance.

As they retraced their steps down the passageway, Porthos increased his pace as the sound of scurrying feet echoed behind them. Aramis laughed, whilst Athos' face bore the trace of a smirk, both men amused to see Porthos practically run toward the light at the end of the gloomy corridor. Reaching the open and noisy street once more, he gave a shiver.

'I think it's time for a drink. That place 'as left a nasty taste in my mouth. God knows what Gallét was thinking.' Indeed, the idea of encouraging a green and vulnerable lad to lose his virginity in such a place was poor taste even for the errant Musketeer. Still, it would seem that he was now to pay a considerable price for his lack of judgement.

Spring sunshine slanted low across the busy street, already the afternoon was wearing on and, uncharacteristically, Athos was ready to admit to himself that he was hungry. His head had begun to ache once more – in fact, he was not at all sure it had ever stopped, he had just been too busy to notice. As they reached the tavern, Porthos barged in through the door like a man who had not partaken of sustenance for an age. Aramis winked at Athos before soberly addressing Porthos, 'One quick drink my friend, we have too much to do.' He offered the disappointed Musketeer his most sympathetic expression as Porthos watched a plate laden with food pass before his eyes, the aroma which reached his nose making him groan in frustration.

'We missed lunch and I'm starvin,' Porthos complained, scowling at the two men who were attempting to keep straight faces. He looked defiant, daring them to deny him his right to regular meals. As he glowered at his friends, he could not help but notice the look on Athos' face as more meals were delivered to waiting tables. In an instant Porthos ceased to frown, now he was grinning from ear to ear, 'E's 'ungry! I can tell, don't even bother denying it,' he warned, wagging a finger at Athos. 'You just watched that stew with the same look you normally reserve for a good brandy.' He smiled and folded his arms, a smug expression settling upon his face. Aramis smiled happily, and turned to see how Athos would react, anticipating some acidic retort or a simple roll of his eyes at the very suggestion. But no, Athos was smiling, and when Aramis raised a brow in surprise, the swordsman simply shrugged his shoulders and slapped Porthos on the shoulder.

'For once, my friend, I am in agreement. I, too, am ready to eat, and perhaps this is a good time to consider what we have learnt.' The three men walked to the bar together in total accord. Once they were seated with ale and wine, they began to discuss their rather bizarre morning.

'From the circumstances we witnessed at The Peacock, I think it is fair to surmise that there was no malice intended – our men simply made a poor choice in their venue.' Aramis nodded his head, saddened by the suffering that might have been avoided had Gallét not been so intent on giving Belvoir a night to remember. He hoped the man would be able to live with his decision when, or rather if, the lad recovered. 'The tavern will have to be quarantined,' said Aramis, 'plus we must ensure no one else drinks from that well, though it did not appear to serve any other establishment.' He looked up, but noted only Porthos was paying attention.

Athos was staring across the room, his glass halfway to his mouth. Aramis turned to see what had caught his attention. A small boy was standing in the doorway, eyes darting around the room as though he was searching for someone. Finally, his eyes locked with those of Athos and the boy froze. For a moment he looked as though he was about to run, especially when the man in question rose from his seat and began to stride toward him. He quickly weighed up his options but glanced at something in his hand. Whatever it was, it seemed to make up his mind, he widened his stance and stood his ground, though his expression said he would rather be anywhere other than where he was, confronting this man whose face turned his blood to ice.

Athos stood before the boy looking down at the upturned face – a picture of rebelliousness, which under different conditions he might have found amusing. However, he had seen the lad before, and the circumstances had not been easy to forget. Whether the boy had played an active part in the charade, or had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he was about to find out.

'We have met before I believe?' Athos murmured, never for a second taking his eyes from the boy. The lad blinked rapidly, not even daring to shuffle his feet. There was no way out, and he suspected the man would simply lift him bodily off the floor if he so much as twitched. He gulped and settled for nodding his head.

'Are you looking for me now?' he asked, his voice low, but the authority it bore very clear. Swallowing hard, the boy gave another small nod.

Athos tilted his head and thought for a moment then, taking a deep breath, he asked quietly, 'Did she send you?' He watched the small upturned face – the eyes flared and the fear in them provided the answer he sought. 'I see. What were you to do?' This time the boy did not hesitate, he thrust the piece of paper he had clutched in his hand toward Athos. The man did not take it straight away, instead he simply stared, his face a blank mask, causing the boy to finally speak.

'Please mister, take the paper, she won't pay me if ya don't.' Athos blinked, though he still made no move. Slowly he reached out and took the folded paper. He held it in his hand but made no move to unfold it and read its contents. So engrossed was he in the small note, he failed to react in time to prevent the boy from slipping past him and escaping out into the street. Still, what could he have revealed? Athos knew she would only have told the child what she wished him to know.

Slowly he unfolded the note. The red seal seemed to stand out from the pale parchment, an intricate M entwined with a W pressed into the wax. He was not aware of his actions as his fingers stroked softly over the imprint beneath his fingers, caressing the wax until it softened beneath the warmth of his touch. Athos was in a world away from the tavern, in which he stood until a voice spoke softly over his shoulder.

'Is something amiss? Aramis enquired. 'Your food is ready.' He did not push for an answer, merely taking in the small envelope clutched in his friend's hand, the knuckles that held it white with tension. Athos said nothing, merely thrusting the missive inside his jacket and, turning abruptly, he failed to look his friend in the eye, simply returning with Aramis to their table. Porthos raised his brows at the Marksman, but Aramis merely shrugged his shoulders and sat himself down. Athos no longer appeared to have an appetite, pushing his food around the plate as though he didn't really see it.

'There is no need to spear that beef, the owner has been long dead,' Porthos offered, in an attempt to lighten the mood that had settled over the company. Athos grunted and finally gave up any attempt at interest in the stew. He pushed the plate away and stared into his glass instead. The two men exchanged glances, both recognising the signs they were witnessing. When Athos poured himself another glass and drank it down in several gulps, their minds were made up. Porthos took hold of the plate of stew and silently asked if Athos was finished. The man waved his hand indicating he had no further use for it, leaving Porthos – never a man to let food go to waste – to dig in. Aramis pondered the situation, trying to decide the best course of action. Athos had received a communication from someone and, judging by his reaction, it was not particularly welcome. Taking a deep breath, he decided that jumping in with both feet was the only approach – if Athos chose to shun him, then so be it.

'What is wrong, my friend, do you suspect bad news? I could not help but note the letter in your hand.' His voice was gentle and there was no suggestion of judgement or insistence. Athos raised his head, and once again Aramis was stunned by the level of pain in those green eyes, but there was a flicker of something else. Anger? Fear? It was so fleeting that he was unable to interpret the emotion, but Athos was conflicted, of that he was certain.

oOo

Milady paced up and down in front of the Cardinal's large desk – she was always puzzled as to why the man had such a large apartment but chose to furnish it with so little of interest. She had concluded that he aimed to intimidate, and she had to admit it worked very well. However, at the moment she was nervous, though she was trying desperately not to show it.

'My dear, you seem agitated. If the job is too difficult, I can always find someone else to accompany me.' He attempted a smile, but on him it was just a narrow dark slit in a face that promised cruelty and deceit. She forced herself to appear as nonchalant as possible, even though her heart was beating so hard she was convinced he must be able to see it, if not hear it, hammering against her ribs. She ceased her pacing, blinking slowly and peering at him from beneath her dark lashes.

'Difficulty is not the issue. I cannot be seen to accompany you, yet you wish me to be your eyes and ears within the party. How exactly do you suggest I do that?' the Cardinal grinned, though his eyes still remained cold and hard.

'That is in hand, do not worry. Just be ready when I call for you, and make yourself presentable to appear before the Queen. Is that your only concern? You seem unusually distressed, is there something I should know? If it is the business with Montmorency, that cannot be traced back to you, unless there was something you were not telling me.' She shot him a look, the reference to the man she had murdered the last time she had visited Rambouillet had unnerved her even more. Still she remained aloof, shaking her dark hair from her pale shoulders.

'No, there is no way anyone can connect that with me. Only Aramis and Porthos were present at the Château de'Rambouillet, and they would never expect the culprit to still be present.' Richelieu pressed his long fingers together and touched them to his pale lips.

'And the sword master, Athos, he, too, was present, was he not?' It took all of her self-control not to react, though she could not be sure that her eyes did not give away her surprise. Why would he have mentioned Athos? Surely he could not know anything of their past history? No, he was fishing; his empire was based upon information and secrets, and she would not add to his bounty.

'Yes, I believe he was, though there is no reason for him to journey this time, he sealed his fate with the King at the Queen's party.' She smirked and held the Cardinal's gaze; he nodded, with half-closed lids, in a lazy expression of agreement.

'Good, then be ready, the King is getting restless. Something tells me he could demand to leave at any moment, and if we must go then I would rather it be sooner than later. The quicker we leave, the quicker his Majesty will likely change his mind, and decide he would rather be enjoying the comforts of home.' Something in the man's eyes caught her attention.

'Do you have plans to aid his decision?' she ventured, knowing that too many questions could be her undoing. Instead of backing off, Richelieu preened and smirked.

'Far be it for me to spoil the King's plans in any way. However, there are many dangers and pitfalls that can mar a long journey, especially for a man so used to the excesses of luxury and comfort as those afforded the King.' Milady raised an elegant brow and began to pull on her gloves.

'Very well, I will make my preparations and await your further instructions.' Turning her back to the Cardinal, she sashayed toward the doorway, all the time aware of the penetrating stare fixed upon her retreating figure. She did not hurry, but forced herself to travel slowly, even though the sensation was very much akin to being stabbed in the back.

Richelieu watched her as she left – the woman was beautiful, but she was not irreplaceable. Paris was full of beautiful women, though it was true that they were not all as proficient with a blade as Milady de Winter. She would be a useful asset on this debacle and, if necessary, she would provide a suitable scapegoat should one be needed.

He tapped his fingers on the desk in a rare show of irritation. There was still some secret which he could not unearth, some connection to the man Athos. It showed as clear as day in her face, and the way she held her body at the very mention of his name, despite the fact she tried so hard to hide it. It was more than mere attraction or infatuation – he was not even sure a woman as cold as her was capable of such emotion – no, it was much stronger. As strong as love? Or hate? He was not sure, but his curiosity burned to find out, and find out he would, one way or another.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Athos did not know how to respond to Aramis' question – as the marksman had suspected, he was indeed conflicted. There was a part of him that had emerged from the brooding darkness and longed to reach out to the light that was his burgeoning friendship; he longed for the warmth and reassurance that this new-found support offered him.

Though these two men constantly volunteered love and encouragement, without judgement, he still found it too good to be true, and so fell back upon the response he knew so well, which had protected him from the cold reality of human interaction – he withdrew behind the walls he had erected, the ones built to keep the pain away. Fearing his brothers' judgment, he kept silent, his fears and longings churning within him like a bubbling volcano, his subconscious ever fearful of the moment he would finally erupt beneath the pressure.

_Nothing_ was his inevitable reply. Aramis was not surprised, though he could not deny he was disappointed. After recent events, he had allowed himself to believe, now that they had cleared the air, Athos had accepted their presence and would let them into his life. He had been wrong. The man who stared at him across the table had hidden behind his old mask of neutrality, whatever fierce emotion he had witnessed earlier now shuttered away, where he alone could dwell and mither over it. So Aramis bit down upon the reply that hovered upon his lips, lowering his eyes in the hope that his own emotions were not obvious.

Porthos had watched the scene unfold across the busy tavern, just as Aramis had. He watched again now, as the marksman attempted to coax information from the brooding Athos, and he was tempted to smack the swordsman around the head as if he were a recalcitrant child. Instead, he scowled and looked from Athos' dark and tense expression, to the crestfallen face of Aramis. He knew his friend would take Athos' reluctance personally, and it would hurt the Musketeer, despite his attempts to suggest otherwise; Porthos understood that Aramis interpreted Athos' cold front as a personal failure. He wanted to shake Athos and tell him to stop being so bloody selfish, but he knew he would not, for he _too _felt the swordsman's emotional battle. Athos had to decide to come to them – there would be no other way.

The atmosphere had grown tense. Athos knew he was to blame, and the crushing disappointment that came off Aramis and Porthos in waves threatened to drive him deeper into the well of guilt his conscience was falling into – yet he simply could not allow himself to grasp at the lifeline the two men offered. Aramis finally broke the silence.

'If you two gentlemen will excuse me.' The Musketeer offered a bright smile as he stood, exiting through the milling crowd, toward the door. Porthos looked at Athos, attempting an expression that bore no criticism or judgement, but his face was an open book compared to Athos.

The swordsman fought his own internal battle, reason finally gaining the upper hand. 'I will talk to him,' he volunteered.

Porthos quirked a brow, 'Now?' Athos blinked, somewhat taken aback, then he sighed and, resigned to his fate, he gave a slight nod.

'Now.' He stood and strode through the crowd, the drunken revellers parting as if they sensed the strength of emotion the man exuded. Porthos thought Athos looked more like a man approaching the gallows than attempting to discourse with a friend.

Aramis gulped in the fresh air as though, inside the tavern, he had ceased to breathe. For a hardened and brave soldier, he often feared he was too sensitive for his own good – a sentiment both Porthos and Treville supported. His head told him he completely understood Athos' reservations. He understood the man's natural reserve, but that did not stop his heart from breaking just a little every time he watched his friend retreat into his despair, not allowing him and Porthos to help.

He was so deep in thought, as well as tending to his own personal needs, he did not hear the soft footfalls approach behind him until he felt a sharp blade at his throat. A deep guttural voice spoke close to his ear, the smell of body odour and liquor, combined with the grating tone, setting the marksman's teeth on edge.

'Not so cocky now are you, Musketeer?' the voice crowed. 'Drop your weapons, all of them, and kick them away.' Aramis hesitated for a moment too long, whilst his brain ran a series of options through his head. He gasped as the blade split his skin and felt warm blood trickling down his throat. 'I said now! Do not think, just do it!' the voice rasped, agitation clear. Aramis had no choice. He unbuckled his weapons belt and sighed as he heard his sword and beloved musket hit the floor; he kicked them away, feeling the blade ever present at his throat. 'Right, now listen good. Tell your friend that if he wants to live to see another day – or if he wants his friends to see another day – to back off and mind his own business.' He laughed, as if he had made a joke, before continuing: 'I will know if he has been asking questions. Do you understand?'

Athos walked across the room, staring intently upon the doorway. The wooden object may as well have been the portal to hell by the way he glared at it with a mixture of anger and fear. He hesitated, hand upon the iron latch, trying to find the courage to take him over the threshold. Porthos watched him falter and held his breath. If he could have helped him find the courage by will power alone, he would have – but this was Athos' battle, not his. He let out a sigh of relief as the man finally pulled open the door and stepped into the night.

Athos turned down the dark alley, guessing Aramis' need for privacy; what he had not expected was the scene unfolding before him. Aramis stood facing away from him, kicking his weapons belt aside, whilst a man stood behind him, holding a weapon of some sort to the marksman's head. Whatever emotion had been churning inside Athos was immediately replace by ice cold fury. It was the sort of anger that allowed him to channel that passion down the length of steel, enabling him to deliver a terrifying judgement – as this man was about to find out. He slipped back out of sight, long enough to draw his sword, aware that silence was necessary to achieve his goal. Creeping back into the alley, he heard the man began to laugh. Athos was grateful for the deep cackle, which covered the sound of his booted feet as he eased closer to his quarry.

When the man ceased his laughter, Athos could hear him muttering something in Aramis' ear, giving him just the time he needed to prod the man in the back with his sword.

'Let him go!' Athos hissed; his voice cold enough to freeze the blood in his victim's veins.

The stranger paused for a fraction of a second, but he had no intention of surrendering, not to the man who held a sword to his back. With one swift movement, he clubbed Aramis to the temple with the butt of his knife and thrust the man away from him. Pivoting on the spot, knife extended before him, he drew his own sword. It was lucky for him he carried a sword, for the knife flew from his numbed fingers just as the weapon left its sheath.

Athos spared a glance toward the fallen Musketeer; he was conscious, but the glazed look on his face suggested he was still stunned from the blow to his head.

The swordsman saw the flash from the blade as the hooded man spun to face him and, flicking his wrist, he knocked the knife from the man's hand, sending a wave of pain down the assailant's arm which caused him to hiss with pain.

'You!' the man growled. 'If I had known you were coming, I would have waited and slit your throat, you interfering bastard.'

Athos gave a twitch of his lips before offering an acidic retort. 'I fear my father may have taken offence at your suggestion, and I now feel obliged to defend my mother's honour, as well as revenge the injury you have done to my friend.'

With that, Athos lunged, and the furious clashing of steel echoed in the dark gulley, finally shaking Aramis from his stupor. The marksman tried to stand but his head swam, and he was not sure exactly how many men were fighting in the alley – which troubled him somewhat. Athos allowed his sword to slide down his opponent's, keeping the blade at bay, whilst enabling him to get close to his adversary. With a manoeuvre that had impressed Porthos only the other night, but took the masked man by surprise, he whipped his head back and landed a heavy blow to the man's nose and was rewarded by a satisfying crack and a shriek of pain. Athos sprang away, sword raised, in readiness for the anguished riposte he anticipated. Blinded by blood, pain and fury, his assailant lunged, a hate-filled scream accompanying his attack. Athos smirked in satisfaction as the man allowed his anger to override his tactics. He lashed out wildly, whilst the swordsman's cold logic flowed through his arm as he struck the man's blade, twisting it with enough force to send it flying through the air.

Just as he was about to press his advantage, he felt something catch beneath his boot and his attention was momentarily distracted by the bellowing cry which erupted behind him. Athos staggered, desperately attempting to correct his footing, as something seemed to anchor his right foot to the ground.

'Oi, what's goin' on?' An angry Porthos entered the fray just as Athos, already unstable, found himself pushed hard in the chest. Unable to steady himself, Athos threw his arms out in front of him in an attempt to stop himself from falling. Just as he realised his efforts were in vain, and crashing to the floor was inevitable, he felt himself collide with something solid, which abruptly halted his decent. The fact that the solid something let out a loud _oomph_, revealed it was likely to be Porthos' chest. Whilst this was happening, the man responsible had obviously decided it was time to make his retreat and dashed past the two entangled men.

'Count your days… swordmaster,' he managed to spit, as he passed Athos, before running from the alley and into the night.

Porthos grabbed hold of Athos' shoulders and manoeuvred the man upright, just as the sword master kicked away the object that had bought about his literal downfall.

'If you do not mind, that is my favourite musket you are abusing with your boot,' Aramis muttered as he held a cloth to the side of his head. Both men turned to look at the seated Musketeer, Porthos letting out a guffaw, glad both his friends appeared unharmed. Athos glowered at Aramis.

'Perhaps in future you could avoid leaving it lying around where someone might fall over it.' Athos delivered the retort with haughty sarcasm.

'My apologies, I am sure. Next time I am asked to relieve myself of my weaponry whilst a blade is held to my throat, I will endeavour to be more thoughtful.' Despite the droll banter, there was a gleam in each man's eyes that told of his relief at the other's continued survival.

'What was that about?' Porthos enquired.

Athos shrugged his shoulders and, as Aramis struggled to his feet, both men ended up looking to him for further explanation.

'I am fine, just fine. Thank you for asking.' He glared at his two friends.

'You are standing and flippant, therefore you are fine.' Athos managed to deliver the line with his usual disdain, though neither Musketeer doubted the humour behind the remark. 'We are long overdue in our report to Treville. Talk as we walk.' With that, he turned abruptly and made his way out of the alley.

Porthos and Aramis ran to catch him up, Aramis fastening his weapons belt as he strode beside Athos. 'It would appear you have not been playing nice with the other children,' Aramis said with a smile, aware of Athos' attempt to ignore him. 'Your friend back there is obviously displeased with you.'

'Really? I thought when he mentioned slitting my throat, it was an unusual term of endearment,' Athos deadpanned.

Porthos grinned. 'That's pleasant. You really do have a way of pissin' people off.'

Aramis slapped Athos on the shoulder. 'Joking aside, my friend, he had a message for you.' Aramis frowned recalling the blade slicing into his throat.

'I think his message was evident,' Athos responded.

'It was more than that, he wanted you to back off, mind your own business if you– or your friends – wanted to see another day.' Porthos glanced at the marksman, then both men turned to Athos, noting the man break the rhythm of his stride, before increasing his pace, face fixed in a mask of cold contempt. He was immune to threats against his own person, but a threat to his friends made his blood boil with fury.

Though he knew neither man would bat an eye at such a threat, he was enraged that they had, yet again, been dragged into a situation of his making. Aramis was anticipating just such a response and intended to nip it in the bud.

'It is not a situation of your making, you informed Treville of your suspicions, making it a Musketeer concern. It is now the responsibility of all of us to uncover who is behind the racketeering.' He paused for a moment, his handsome face frowning as he considered another possibility. 'I assume that is what he referred to? You have not involved yourself in any other situation that would encourage your demise?'

Athos snorted, 'Despite what you think, I do not make a habit of embroiling myself in the illegal affairs of others. Not unless I am drawn into them directly or…' He paused, long enough for Porthos to intervene.

'Or what?' the big man asked, his face full of genuine interest.

'Or the victim is unable to defend themselves.'

'How very noble of you. Your honour does you credit, my friend. 'Aramis' words were well meant, but they caused Athos' heart to skip a beat, so close had he come to the truth of it.

They had reached the garrison gates, and as one they all fell silent, the shadow of the infirmary darkening their mood, both literally and metaphorically, as they passed beneath its canopy. It was with an element of reluctance that the three men mounted the stairs to Treville's office. The light had begun to fade, and the glow of a lamp was evident through the window, only emphasising the coming of evening and the length of their absence. All three were beginning to regret their delay, caused by seeking refreshment at The Wren, and Porthos wished he had listened to Athos' advice, especially as their brothers lay ill within the garrison walls.

Athos lead the trio up the stairs, the slow rhythm of their booted feet evidence of their growing reluctance. Like errant boys awaiting their fate, they halted before the door as Athos knocked.

'Come!' The severe command from the Musketeer Captain had the three friends standing to attention as they filed into the office and arranged themselves in front of Treville's desk. The man noted the familiar formation but did not allow it to mellow his mood. He was irritated. His day had gone from bad to worse and, whether these men deserved it or not, they were going to get the sharp edge of his tongue because of it.

'Where the hell have you been?' the Captain barked. The three men stood straighter, each managing to find a spot of interest on the wall just above the top of Treville's head. 'Well?' As was slowly becoming the norm, Athos spoke for the three of them. Generally, it was because he had the knack of delivering a succinct report; including all the important detail, but none of the more flowery elements he would have got from Aramis. However, Treville had come to realise that succinct could also mean devoid of all of the dangerous, or reckless, or just downright stupid parts. For their sakes, he hoped that was not going to be the case now.

'We believe we have discovered the source of the fever. There is a well that services the Peacock Tavern, it is not in good repair and is likely to be the cause of the men's illness. Currently the inn is closed, and all but two of the inhabitants are laid low with fever. For the time being it will remain closed, ensuring nobody else comes into contact with them. Whether anything can be done to alleviate their suffering… we offered no promises.' He looked directly at Treville as he gave this last statement, the rest having been delivered in his usual concise manner, though directed somewhere to the left of where Treville currently stood scowling.

There was a lengthy pause, which Athos did not appear intent to fill. This time it was Aramis who spoke up.

'How are the men?' His eyes showed his concern and Treville understood it was genuine, but he was unable to climb down from the angry mood which threatened to overwhelm him.

'Tricoux is dead and Gallét is hanging on by a thread. Three more are showing symptoms. Apparently, Lecroix helped Serge prepare food in the kitchen earlier this morning before he, too, succumbed, that must be why men are developing fever who were not present at the tavern that night. We have had to destroy all that was in the kitchens and send for food prepared outside – Serge is beside himself.' He glared at the three men as if they were somehow solely responsible for recent events. Silence reigned once more. Aramis hung his head, devastated at the news, and Porthos lowered his eyes, whilst Athos' face remained impassive.

'These inhabitants of the tavern, were they not so disabled that they were able to attack you? Or did your day end in its usual manner – with you finding time to drink and brawl in some other establishment whilst your brothers died in agony?' It was cruel and unfair blow and Treville knew it. However, losing good men in battle was one thing, but this was something else entirely; the letters he would have to write to loved ones could not be elevated by tales of bravery and honour, just simple bad luck – it was all wrong.

'Could you not have simply walked past for once?' The question was clearly aimed at Athos, and the Captain was aware of the pain and sorrow that flickered momentarily in those green eyes, before he shuttered of his emotions yet again. However, neither Aramis or Porthos were prepared for their brother to take the blame, both men spoke as one.

'That is not fair, Captain,' Aramis proclaimed, the sadness from earlier now replaced with dismay.

'It was my fault,' Porthos announced firmly. Treville simply glared, but he could not help feeling a flicker of guilt at the accusation he had just made. Athos had said nothing, his face a cold mask, still staring intently at the wall.

The cold, heavy feeling that settled in the swordsman's gut, prevented him from speaking. He did not even hear what was being said. Treville was disappointed in him, the Captain believed he had sought the solace of drink whilst others around him had suffered, and he had not been wrong; that it had gone against his better judgement changed nothing. He became aware that Aramis was speaking, and he attempted to concentrate, though the beating of his heart attempted to drown out anything else, as it thrummed inside his head. It had been almost two days since he had eaten a decent meal; it seemed every time a plate was set in front of him, something momentous occurred to dispatch his appetite. His body now seemed to be rebelling and he felt so very tired. He was once more reminded of the letter inside his coat, it felt as though it burned through his very skin. Ironic, as it was situated above his frozen heart.

Aramis had obviously been speaking for some time, explaining events at The Wren.

'The man caught me at a disadvantage, but he gave me a message to give to Athos. Athos emerged and managed to drive him off, with the help of Porthos' timely arrival.' Treville's face darkened even more, if that were at all possible.

'You believe it was one of the men demanding protection money?' Treville barked. Aramis nodded.

'It would seem the most probable explanation.' Treville turned to Athos, his face softening a little, the guilt of his earlier accusation surfacing once more.

'Did you recognise him Athos?' His voice was less stern, and Athos finally looked the Captain in the face. Treville sucked in a breath as he saw the look in the young man's eyes. He was not sure what emotion flickered in those green depths, but he knew his words had hurt him as effectively as any blow.

'No, I did not, he wore a scarf over his face. However, his words were telling. He called me swordmaster!' He looked at the Captain now, all signs of sorrow eradicated, and as he raised a brow there was nothing but concentration and cold calculation on the young man's face.

'Swordmaster?' Treville questioned. Both Aramis and Porthos turned to Athos in surprise, as neither of the men had heard the mystery man's parting comment.

'How many people do you think would know of my _arrangement_ within the garrison?' Athos asked quietly. The three men watching him grew thoughtful.

'To people living around the garrison, you would most likely be just another Musketeer, you are regularly seen with Porthos and me,' Aramis stated. Athos nodded, though his gaze never left Treville.

'The King, Richelieu and the Red Guard, they all know of your role,' the Captain offered, though his face was slightly incredulous at what he was suggesting. Again, Athos nodded.

'Noting that nobody was taken to the Châtelet after the Red Guard took the two men away after our disagreement, and the fact they not only recognised me but knew of my position…' His voice trailed off and Treville ran his hands through his sandy hair. All the previous anger drained from his body and his shoulders lost their rigidity, slumping just slightly.

'You think the Red Guards are behind this activity?' the Captain asked, though he appeared to have already reached his own conclusion. Athos shrugged.

'It is a strong possibility, and one I feel we cannot discount. Perhaps more discreet enquiries should be made.' Treville straightened and his demeanour once more took on an air of irritation.

'That will not be possible.' The three men shuffled and made as if to speak, but Treville raised his hand to silence them. 'The King has made it clear he wishes to embark upon his tour the day after tomorrow. Apparently, he is_ bored_, and has decided we have had sufficient time to plan.' Athos looked aghast, grasping the logistical problems in an instant.

'How many men are we down with fever and on reconnaissance?' he asked quietly. Treville took a breath, heartened by the sensible question. Something about having Athos back to discuss the situation with diffused some of the Captain's tension.

'Thirty altogether. There are thirteen in the infirmary and seventeen visiting the proposed destinations on the King's itinerary, though they are not expected to return until next week. On top of that, we may be away for over a month. I cannot leave the Garrison deplete entirely for that length of time, even with the King gone from the city. I fear I will have to take some of the cadets and, though they are all good men, they would not be my first choice for such a journey.'

'Why now?' Aramis asked. Treville laughed, though there was no humour in the sound.

'From the look on Richelieu's face, I suspect he has been whispering in the King's ear.' Treville shook his head in frustration.

'Why?' Porthos queried, somewhat confused. 'I thought the Cardinal was against the journey. What has he to gain from encouraging a premature start?'

'I am convinced he sees this journey as another opportunity to see the regiment fail. No doubt his spies have kept him abreast of our depletion and he is making good use of it. We will have to be on our guard at every moment, as well as obvious threats, for who knows what the First Minister has planned.' The three men let the implications sink in. They would be on the road for at least three days before they reached the safety of Rambouillet, and they doubted the journey would be trouble-free. If Richelieu wanted to end the tour before it began, that stretch of the journey would be his first opportunity. Treville interrupted their thoughts with an unexpected statement.

'Athos, you will have to accompany us. With the men so depleted the King could not object, in fact he has granted me the right to bring you along. I am afraid the Cardinal aided my request, though I am not sure his motivation was on the lines of my own.'

Athos was stunned, and it was Porthos who spoke up.

'Why does Richelieu want Athos to come?' Treville shook his head as he pondered the same question that had been buzzing around his head since his return from the Louvre earlier in the day.

'I am not sure, though we should be alerted by his enthusiasm in persuading His Majesty. He reminded him that Athos was considered the best swordsman in the regiment, if not all of France, and witnessing his skill would be highly entertaining.' All eyes were on Athos, both Porthos and Aramis concerned for their friend who had for some reason garnered the interest of the Cardinal. Athos' face no longer showed surprise. He had retreated behind his defences once more, yet his eyes held Treville's and, for a moment, the Captain thought he saw anger flashing in them.

'So, he anticipates sword play?' Aramis spoke aloud that which all of them in the room were thinking. 'Well he is not wrong in his summation, so let us make sure His Majesty is impressed.' Athos stared at the Musketeer with horror, rolling his eyes as Aramis winked and Porthos let out a loud guffaw; even Treville managed a thin smile at the faith the two Musketeers had in the swordsman. Finally, Treville retreated behind his desk.

'Get plenty of rest, tomorrow there will be much to do. Musketeers are officially confined to barracks until we leave.' The Captain allowed himself a laugh at the three shocked faces before him. 'I cannot afford to lose any more men, especially you,' he added quietly. 'Athos, report to me after muster in the morning, I would like to discuss options.' Athos nodded, and all three had headed toward the door when Treville added: 'I will see what aid can be delivered to The Peacock. It is not their fault, and we must eliminate the source of the disease for good.' Aramis smiled and left the room with a lighter heart.

As Athos passed through the door – first in, last out – Treville stopped him. 'Athos.' The swordsman turned, his face showing no reaction.

'I am sorry, I should not have presumed earlier. I was worried and angry; I should not have said what I did.' Athos paused a beat before nodding to the Captain, accepting the apology. He turned and closed the door behind him, the sound of booted feet on the stairs gradually receding. Treville sighed. Athos may have accepted his apology, but the Captain had seen the hurt in those eyes, and realised that, this time, it was _he_ who had managed to hammer yet another nail into the coffin that housed Athos' guilt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The night had settled in whilst the three men had stood in Treville's office. Now the moon scudded across the sky, sailing between large, menacing clouds. Bad weather would be a terrible way to begin their journey, though there was always the chance it would put the King off and delay the venture a little longer.

Porthos headed toward the refectory. Despite what Treville had said, he was starving, and he could smell stew.

'Are you comin'?' he bellowed, pausing to ensure both Athos and Aramis were following. Aramis had faltered, his appetite somewhat tainted by thoughts of the men who had been infected through food consumed inside the garrison.

'You 'eard what the Captain said, the food is all fresh. Serge will be upset; we need to show we trust 'im,' Porthos growled. This hit home, and Aramis' handsome face split into a wide grin.

Slapping Athos on the shoulder, he grinned. 'He is right, mon ami, let us show we are not afraid to eat food inside our own walls.' Without waiting for Athos' reply, he began striding after Porthos.

Athos stood in a pool of moonlight, and removing the pocket watch from his jacket he checked the time; only six thirty – it felt much later. However, the darkness came much earlier in March, there was too much time to wait. He sighed, the note still weighing heavy upon his chest like the stone lid of a tomb. Even breathing in and out brought continued reminders, as the parchment flexed and rustled along with the rapid beating of his heart.

Aramis had looked over his shoulder and noted Athos gazing at the timepiece as if it were an object of doom. He had not forgotten the missive Athos had received from the small boy, and the fact Athos was watching the time was telling. Athos never looked at the time, he had some form of inherent awareness that allowed him to know of the hour without consulting any other source of confirmation. That he did so now spoke of his agitation and anxiety, it signified the importance of the hour, suggesting a meeting – though with whom, he had no idea. Aramis continued toward the refectory, relieved that Athos was now walking behind him.

They entered the warm confines of the only communal space within the garrison. Normally, at this time of night, the room was full of Musketeers, eating and drinking, sharing news of their day, or just socialising in general.

Tonight, there were only two tables occupied, and those men sat around them were talking quietly, most with only cups of ale or wine before them. Porthos was already at the hatch, where Serge was ladling thick stew into a bowl, and from the look on his face and the way he was mumbling, it was obvious the cook was deeply unhappy.

'Good evening Serge, a bowl of your delicious stew if you please,' Aramis requested, grinning at the old man as though rumours of infected food did not abound within the garrison walls.

Serge simply looked at him as though he were insane. The smile faltered for a second before Aramis became all seriousness.

'I apologise Serge, but I am in earnest, I do wish to enjoy a bowl of stew. I have no hesitation eating your food.' The two men locked eyes, then the old man looked away, ladling stew into a bowl.

'As if I would serve infected food after all these years,' he muttered, the mantra having been all he had said for most of the day.

'Do not berate yourself, Serge, you could not have known Tricoux was infected. It is not your fault.' Aramis patted the old man's arm, as he procured a chunk of bread and a cup of wine. Serge nodded, still muttering, though his wrinkled face showed he appreciated the man's words.

Athos found himself standing before the old Musketeer, Serge frowning, ladle suspended in mid-air.

'Do you want stew?' Serge barked, as if defying the swordsman to say no. Athos, who doubted he could eat anything whilst his insides currently churned in anticipation, merely nodded, aware that his answer was important to the garrison cook.

'Humph,' the old man grunted. 'Well it must be alright then, if you want some.' He offered Athos the ghost of a smile as he ladled in a little extra. 'Seen more meat on a skeleton than on you boy.' Serge mumbled, adding a chunk of bread and cheese to Athos' tray. 'Now make sure you eat it up.' Athos managed a weak grin before he took hold of the tray and carried it to the table in front of the fire, where Porthos was already digging into his supper.

He placed the tray before him and regarded the contents for a moment, then lifted his gaze and saw Aramis nod toward the group of men sitting around the table on the other side of the room. His eyes followed where the Musketeer had indicated, and he noted the men had ceased their chatter and were watching Athos and his brothers intently as they prepared to eat their meal.

'I think we are being watched, mon ami. We need to eat, for Serge's sake.' With that, Aramis scooped up a spoonful of stew, and nodded his head in recognition of its quality. Athos broke off a portion of bread and dipped it into the rich gravy. Biting off a mouthful, he almost choked; as he had anticipated, the food tasted like ashes, sticking in his throat as he tried to swallow. Still it was enough. One by one the other men rose from their tables and went to collect bowls of stew from the old man. Word soon spread, and before Porthos had finished his bowl, the refectory was full of hungry Musketeers. Aramis raised his glass to the cook and the old man gave a grateful smile and a nod in response.

Porthos eyed Aramis across the table, and silently indicated Athos' untouched bowl of stew. The swordsman had managed to consume the bread, though how he had managed to swallow it he did not know. Now he nibbled at the chunk of cheese as though it were poison.

'I take it yer don't want that?' Porthos asked, poking his spoon at Athos' stew. Athos looked up as though he was surprised to find he had company. He pushed the bowl toward Porthos but said nothing. Between mouthfuls, Porthos managed to speak. 'You shouldn't take what Treville said to 'eart, 'e didn't mean it, and 'e wasn't singling you out, although I know you thought 'e was.' Athos stared at Porthos, as though he did not understand what the Musketeer was talking about. Porthos took this as permission to continue. 'You were right, and I should have listened, we should have reported to Treville first. The Captain knows it was my idea.'

Athos was suddenly relieved. If the men put his mood down to Treville's dressing down, then that was all to the good as they would not be inclined to ask questions. He glanced at Aramis to gauge the man's reaction. The marksman was watching Athos closely, a thoughtful look on his face. Athos knew he had seen the note that now lay blistering his chest as though the missive had been written with acid. Aramis smiled and began making idle chatter, but Athos was not fooled, he knew the Musketeer did not believe his brooding was the result of Treville's chastisement.

Porthos' eyes grew heavy. They had talked of this and that, or rather he and Aramis had talked, Athos had hardly spoken a word, just the odd acknowledgment of a question, or the occasional grunt at a joke made at his expense.

'Well I'm turnin' in, all that food and Athos' constant chatter has worn me out.' He winked at Aramis, generating a picture of innocence, as Athos gave him one of his most withering stares. Porthos simply guffawed loudly, standing and stretching his large frame as he yawned. Athos was not intending to sleep, but he was aware of Aramis' intent gaze and knew that, if he did not retire now, the marksman would eventually try and wrest the information he required from him – a conversation Athos had no intention of having. So, he also stood, indicating he, too, would retire. Porthos smiled at Aramis. 'What about you?'

Aramis shrugged. 'Well, as you two are not offering to keep me company, and Treville has seen to it that I cannot console the lonely ladies of this fair city tonight, then yes, I will also retire.' Athos was not taken in by the marksman's admission of defeat, and he guessed Aramis would be watching him like a hawk; he would have to think very carefully before he made his escape.

oOo

Milady paced up and down the floor of her apartment, the shadows thrown by the lit candles acting like silent watchers, dark and judgemental, as she repeatedly moved around the room. She held the glass in her hand as though she was unaware of its presence, only occasionally lifting it to her lips to sip the blood-red wine. Stopping to glance at the time piece upon the mantle yet again, she had to wonder if time could possibly be standing still; it was the only solution as to why, every time she consulted the clock, the hour did not appear to have advanced. She supped her wine distractedly, and resumed her pacing once more, when all at once the clock chimed the half hour. It would seem that not only could time stand still, but it could accelerate at a ridiculous rate also. Her pacing stilled, and she placed her goblet beside the time piece, just as the last chime echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Milady raised her eyes to the mirror above the mantle. A beautiful woman stared back at her, and she gazed at the reflection as though she were meeting the features before her for the very first time. The dark, feathered brows, arched over slanting, green eyes, and high cheek bones defined her pale face. Hers were full lips – lips that could be passionate or cruel – now parted slightly to allow rapid breaths to leave her body, as her heart raced ridiculously quickly. She ceased her investigation of the image before her – she would not find answers there; she had tried too many times before. But the woman who looked back simply mocked and laughed at her vulnerability, urging her to harden her heart to the world, and telling her to seek nothing but self-gratification, wherever it was offered.

With a last moan of disgust, she collected her cloak, checking her purse and knife were securely in place. Closing the door carefully behind her, she stepped out into the empty street. Raising her eyes, she noted the large, glowing moon, which slipped in and out of the clouds, just like the way she used the shadows and doorways to camouflage her progress through the silent city.

oOo

As the hours dragged on and on, Athos paced the small room and stared at the bottle beside the bed. How he longed to drink deep and forget all the drama and tragedy, her very existence elicited. He was still finding it almost impossible to assimilate the fact that she was alive, and from nowhere the memory would slam into him like a punch to the gut. He would reel from the shock, as though he had physically felt the full force of the impact. Even now, her existence within the city sent his system into a heightened sense of awareness, and he was constantly struggling to replace his old emotions with a whole set of new ones. No longer torturing himself over the execution of his own wife, he was now guilt ridden with the failure to give his brother the justice he deserved. But more important, was the recent, unexpected revelation – the sensation her proximity still aroused in him; another reason he would not touch the tempting bottle, for he needed every ounce of self-control he could muster. He told himself he would not repeat what had happened before – that had simply been the result of shock, nothing more. If Athos recognised the lie beneath his reasoning, he chose to ignore it. No good could come of their reunion, though he sensed a great deal of harm and pain awaiting him out there in the darkness.

As midnight drew closer, Athos considered how he could depart the garrison unseen. Treville had banned them from leaving, though technically he had only mentioned Musketeers. It was enough of a detail to assuage Athos' guilt at disobeying the Captain, though he felt no such dismay in evading his overprotective friend.

oOo

Aramis had been struggling to stay awake since they had left the refectory. He had deliberately left the fire in his room unlit, despite the chill of the night air, as he did not want a warm room to lure him into slumber, when Athos could slip out at any moment. It was now nearing midnight, and he felt cold and stiff, not to mention rather annoyed. Perhaps he had read the situation completely wrong, perhaps the note had informed Athos of some event, something that would happen elsewhere at a given time. He groaned at the thought of the hours he had lost when he could have been in his warm bed, whilst Athos was very probably fast asleep.

He was still chastising his own overactive imagination, when he heard a noise in the courtyard below. The marksman had kept his small window ajar, and his seat close by – neither conducive to his comfort. He threw off the blanket he had draped around his shoulders, and quietly stepped into the corridor outside his room, which was open to the courtyard below. He stood silently against the wall, keeping to the shadows; two or three torches shone in the darkest corners, for the benefit of those who were assigned night duty.

As he adjusted to the movement of the torchlight and the shadows they cast, he heard the sound again, the hint of a click, or rattle. It was faint, but he thought it came from the stables, a feeling that was confirmed by the sudden whinnying from the horses inside. Aramis dashed to the stairs, pulling his weapon in readiness. He suspected it was Athos, though why his friend would be in the stables was a mystery, for Roger was still enjoying the hospitality of Monsieur René.

As the marksman slipped amidst the gloom toward the stables, he heard the horses whinny again. Athos almost grinned with pleasure as he watched Aramis creeping toward the opening. His only dilemma was the discomfort he was causing the horses, but he knew their distress would be short-lived. He wrapped his hand where he had cut his palm and pulled on his gloves; needs must, and he knew Aramis was too good for him to have escaped any other way. When he reached the gateway, he could just hear Aramis' calm voice, soothing the upset animals.

The two Musketeers guarding the gateway stood off to one side, obviously discussing something of import on which, judging by the tone of their voices, they held differing opinions. To be fair, they were keeping a close eye on the street ahead, but then they were looking for someone sneaking in, not sneaking out.

Athos kept close against the wall of the garrison until he reached the corner of the empty market stalls, from where he moved stealthily from one wooden structure to the other, his black garb aiding his escape. Crouching low until he was sure nobody would notice him, he then straightened, striding purposefully toward his rendezvous.

oOo

Aramis was frustrated; something had spooked the horses, something that had caused them to stamp and complain. They had calmed almost immediately upon his arrival, but the small mare, which they used mainly for baggage, still rolled her eyes and backed away from the door to her stall whenever Aramis removed his reassuring touch.

'What is it girl, what has upset you?' He raised a torch, and lit two more, placing his back upon the wall; the stables were now bathed in a warm glow and the horses appeared to relax. Just as he was about to give up, Aramis trod on something hard and unforgiving, he bent down, flexing his ankle and muttered, as his hand wrapped around a bunch of cloth, something small and hard within. He raised the object to the light and stared, his expression part bemused, part horrified. Gingerly he lifted the damp cloth to his nose, instantly smelling the sharp metallic tang of blood. Aramis pulled the string away, afraid at what he might find within.

As the bottle stopper fell into his hand, his mouth fell open in surprise, and the small mare again showed her displeasure. Placing the strange object on one side, he took a torch and held it aloft, lighting the skittish horse's stall. Sure enough, another bloodied missile. Aramis opened the gate and carefully retrieved it from the hay, all the time talking calmly to the wild-eyed horse. He checked what was now clearly a bloodied square of linen, the _A_ in the corner an unmistakeable sign that its owner had merely gone for distraction rather than secrecy.

Aramis rolled his eyes and thumped the wooden post. He examined the bloodied cloth that had obviously disconcerted the poor hoses, after sailing through the air and arresting their peace and quiet. Horses did not like the scent of blood.

'Not well done of you Athos, and God knows where you got the blood.' Aramis shuddered at the prospect. It was pointless looking for him now – if he wanted to go alone, so be it. Aramis scoffed at his own stupid notion that Athos would have failed to get his own way, and he had to admit it was a clever trick. All he could do now was wait until the morning and be prepared to pick up the pieces, if that was what was needed – and he had a premonition it would.

oOo

Milady and her pale companion flitted along their differing pathways, each seeming to hurry across the open spaces before seeking solace for a heartbeat, hidden in the shadows and the ensuing darkness. Eventually, the bridge loomed before her, the gentle rippling of the small river that fed the larger Seine flowing beneath the watching stars, ever moving, unaware and uncaring of the dramas acted out upon its banks as it passed.

She stood in the shelter of the parapet and listened. Nothing other than the lap of the water as it rolled over the occasional rock or stone; even the creatures that lived within had sunk to the darkened depth to pass away the hours of the night. She strained her ears for any sign she was not alone – there was always the possibility that he would not come. No, he would not deny her. After their last meeting, curiosity alone would ensure he came, and she told herself she did not care whether any other emotion played a part in his decision. For just a moment, she wondered whether, if time had allowed, and she had found the slightest inclination, she could actually have pin-pointed the precise moment when she had allowed herself to justify her actions with so many lies.

Was it when she told herself Athos meant nothing, just a title, and a comfortable life? When she told herself she did not love him, need him, worship him – he was just a means to an end? Or was it when she convinced herself her downfall was all his fault, that he would surely pay for doing _his duty_? No, she did not have time to ask such questions, she did not care; more lies, more obfuscation.

The sound of a pebble scooting across the rocky river path made her snap to attention. She held her breath and listened more intently, as the moon chose that moment to emerge from behind the clouds in all her glory, casting light in all but the darkest depths of the bridge. She saw him then, a figure clad in black, the leather of his clothing catching the light, whilst the sword at his belt appeared to glow. For a moment she held her breath; her husband was an impressive figure under any circumstances, though she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge it – _more lies_. Yet somehow, here in the moonlight, with the silvery glow lighting up the surface of the water and casting him in an almost mythical aura, she could only stare.

His face wore that conceited mask that gave nothing away, yet she alone knew that bland and arrogant stare could disguise an almost feral passion. When he looked at her like that, almost cold and indifferent, her legs tuned to water and her blood to fire, desire overriding any sane thought she might have had. As the moon slid behind the clouds once more, she sighed with relief and sucked in a breath of cold air. The darkness that now enveloped her gave her time to come to her senses, the spell created by the moonlight broken, allowing her to curb her needs and calm the tumult raging within.

Curling her fingers into fists, she narrowed her eyes, slammed shut her heart, abandoned her desires, and took a step toward him.

Athos stood beneath the oppressive structure of the bridge, his heart pumping, clenching and unclenching his gloved hands as though preparing to do battle. As the moon swept into view, the area was bathed in a pale light and he saw the woman walking toward him. Her cloak was the colour of moss, dark hair falling from beneath her hood over one shoulder, her skin was pale and smooth, almost luminescent beneath the celestial glow. He could not make out her eyes, but he did not need to, he knew them too well – they visited him each night, every time he closed his own.

She came to a stop just a few feet away and, though she was tall for a woman, she still had to tilt her head slightly to look Athos in the eye. Neither face gave anything away, testament to their will power, as in truth there was enough emotion present beneath their vacant façades to create a storm.

'You sent for me,' Athos almost whispered, the low arrogant tone sending shivers throughout her body, as his voice always had. Reigning in the urge to reach out and touch what she could not have, she fell back on her well-practised nonchalance. Tilting her head, she smiled, giving her best impression of amusement.

'I did, though I was not sure you would come.' She stood completely still, giving Athos the opportunity to reply. When he continued to say nothing, she merely shrugged her slim shoulders and exuded indifference.

'We have a situation. I am assuming – from what I have observed – that your true identity is unknown to your friends, and definitely not known to the King.' She noted the flicker of anger flare in Athos' eyes. For a moment, she found she could not tear her gaze away from those green depths, appearing now almost black in the dark. When he still did not respond, she continued: 'As I suspected. Do not concern yourself, I consider it in my own best interests for you to continue with your anonymity. However, you have come to the attention of the Cardinal and, like a dog with a bone, he wants to know more about you. For once, your being an enigma is working against you, Athos.' This time, he finally spoke.

'Why would this be a problem for you, and how do you know?' He watched closely as she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the question, she knew was inevitable. Athos' heart squeezed as realisation flooded through him. With a look of horror and shock, he threw his next words at her like ice-cold water hitting her face.

'You are the Cardinal's mistress?' Disgust was evident in his voice, sending her pent-up emotion out of control.

'No!' she cried; anger obvious in her tone. 'Perhaps, for a brief time. What was I supposed to do? Of course, you would have had more respect for me if I had begged in the gutter or waited at tables in some cheap and sleazy tavern. Well I had spread my legs for one wealthy noble, and rather liked it, so I did not see why I should not do it again.' Instantly she wished she could have sucked the words back in, but she had wanted to hurt him, as his judgement had hurt her. Now the look of pain and desolation on his handsome face almost undid her. She watched him struggle to maintain control. His breathing was harsh, and she watched him curl his hands into fists at his sides, all the time holding her gaze, his stare never wavering.

He had so many questions he wanted to demand answers for, but he could not, would not – almost ashamed that after all he had done, all that he had lost, his overriding need was to scream _did you ever love me?_

She was the first to lower her gaze, not out of shame but because she feared if she stared at the depth of his sorrow any longer, she would take him in her arms and make that sadness go away_. _She preferred his cold, judgement and disgust to the look of grief and disappointment she had inspired with her hurtful lies. She found herself offering pathetic excuses, and her shame deepened.

'It was brief, and not at all pleasant. The man is a snake.' Athos interrupted her, almost spitting out his words.

'I have no desire to hear the details of your whoring, madame.' His eyes had grown hooded, and anger now bubbled where betrayal had so recently bled from his visage. She took a deep breath. She knew that look so well – the intense brooding gaze, the same stare that spoke of both anger and desire, the one that, under either circumstance, always left her panting with want. Her words almost caught in her throat, but she struggled to sound as aloof as she was able.

'I am not apologising, husband. I no longer share his bed, I provide other services, ones for which I am sure you believe I am better suited.' She raised one elegant brow and gave him a cat-like smile.

'You are his spy, living in the shadows, watching and waiting, using your… talents to achieve your ends, dripping tales and lies into his cauldron of information. Yes, I am sure you are invaluable.' His voice oozed contempt. 'I still do not see why you felt the need to meet in such a manner, simply to crow of your new lofty position.' She narrowed her eyes but refused to be dragged into defending her position yet again.

'The Cardinal wishes me to accompany him on the King's tour, he has "arranged" for me to be a part of the Queen's retinue. He… he senses something between us, and he will be watching. I thought you should be warned. It is in neither of our interests for our past to be bought into the light.' She held her head high and awaited his inevitable response.

'How does he know of our connection, has the spy master been trailing his own creature?' He almost showed a slight twist of his lips, lips she suddenly found so alluring. She could simply find no words to explain the Cardinal's curiosity without revealing her own. Athos took a step closer. Now they stood almost toe to toe, she could hear his breathing, feel it on her cheek in the chill of the spring night. Athos leaned closer, if that were possible.

'Did you show too much interest in my fall from grace? Did you ask too many questions, revel in my broken body?' He spat the questions at her, the accusations so close to the truth, as forceful as any bullet from a weapon.

'No, no! I never wanted to see your hurt.' The words went so against everything she had dreamt of for the past few years, she shocked even herself, but they issued forth before she could stop them. The image sprang into her mind of Athos lying bleeding on the floor beneath the palace window, the night he had jumped clutching a bomb. The admission had affected her far more than it had him, realisation spearing through her and unravelling her composure. Two years she had lay in the darkness planning his demise, imagining his face as she plunged a dagger deep into his heart. Now she was admitting she might never have carried such a task through to completion. No matter how angry, how much she hated, still, if he was to be harmed, it would be by her own hand, and no other.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she reached out and stroked his cheek. Athos stiffened and closed his eyes, hissing as he inhaled the soft smell of jasmine. He felt the soft fingers as they caressed his cheek and jaw, the urge to grab her hand and pull her close almost overwhelming. Suddenly he felt warm lips upon his, a brief but urgent kiss. His eyes flew open, but she was gone. The air appeared to shimmer before him, as though the natural order of things had been disturbed by her presence.

He moaned out loud and wiped a hand over his eyes. He could not be near the woman without his entire existence being thrown into turmoil, how the hell would he cope with her presence for the next few months?

She heard the moan of despair and felt the tears slowly fall from her tired eyes. He might be pained by his loss, but he now loathed and despised her. His treacherous body, like her own, still betrayed them both in the desire they could not deny. But she hated the creature he had forced her to become, hated the moral high ground that would rather have seen her starve than use her assets to survive. Anger began to rise up in her chest once more, and she felt relief. She would rather hate and allow aggression to consume her emotions, than suffer the pain of what she had lost, of what she could never have again.

'God, will this never end!' Athos cried into the silence. He pondered on all that she had revealed – that she had gone from his bed to the Cardinal's sickened him. She had been right, though, he would have felt differently had she pursued a humbler path, but it was not her way, she liked the finer things in life, the things a Comte could provide. Her words still stung, like a lance through his heart. _I had already spread my legs for one wealthy noble and found I liked it. _That burning question again, had it all been a lie? When they stood close, he could believe it had not, but perhaps lust was stronger than love, perhaps that was all it had ever been – at least for her.

Slowly he made his way back to the garrison. Once inside the quiet of his room he sat on the edge of his bed and sank his head in his hands. Had he decided her fate, given her no choice? No, there was always a choice, she had decided her own path, and there was no going back. Now there was the new problem of the Cardinal's interest, but hopefully the King would occupy the First Minister enough for him to forget about a lowly swordmaster. Whatever it took, he would keep the man at arm's length – at all costs.

Athos removed his boots, weapons belt and jacket, and lay back upon the bed; there were precious few hours before morning, but he dreaded them already. His eyes were too heavy to fight, and his body was weak from too little food and too much emotion. With a sense of dread, he was dragged into a fitful sleep, his dead brother accused him of betraying his memory, whilst his body gave into the desire he had felt in that woman's presence; forcing him to completion, beneath the judgemental ghost of his kin. Desire slaked and his soul resigned to burn in hell.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Somewhere near the garrison a cock crowed – the creature was somewhat confused, as dawn had not yet lit the sky in morning glory.

Athos rose slowly. After a disturbed night he always awoke stiff and hurting, as though he has spent the darkened hours barroom brawling. Slowly, he stretched his back and arms, repeating the movements he followed as often as possible, if his stomach or head did not object. As if his thoughts had connected with the idea of sobriety, he cast a side-long glance at the bottle upon the table, still standing untouched from the night before. He gave a wry grin. He had been so tired, so distracted, he had fallen straight to sleep – if one could call the torture of the last few hours sleep – and he doubted that even the entire bottle would have made much difference.

As Athos gripped his sword, something made him wince and, remembering his machinations of the previous evening, he unwrapped the makeshift bandage around his left palm. He had had to slash it twice to produce enough blood to spook the horses, and even then it had been the power of his makeshift catapult that had upset the poor beasts. He had aimed low so as not to hit them, but he knew the noise and smell would have been enough to cause them to panic just enough to attract Aramis' attention. Now, in the sane light of day, his antics appeared somewhat overly dramatic, but at the time he had been rather preoccupied, and desperate to throw Aramis off his back. Luckily, it had worked, and he hoped the man would not judge him too harshly.

He focused once more on the two gashes. Though red, they did not worry him greatly, he had endured far, far worse. No, it was Aramis' wrath that he dreaded, followed by the inevitable questions. He wondered if he could make some excuse to leave the garrison, perhaps he could request leave to fetch Roger. It was a fair plan, though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Indeed, Athos rejected breakfast and gained permission from Treville to collect Roger from the kindly farrier; he would, after all, need him on the morrow for their journey, and this was probably his best opportunity; only his conscience nudged him and reminded him of his cowardice. Wincing, he remembered the details of last night's meeting and the torment he was about to be forced to endure.

When Aramis and Porthos realised Athos was still absent at morning muster, they became alarmed, halting Treville before he could retreat within his office.

'Where is Athos?' Aramis demanded. For a moment, Treville scowled at the Musketeers' lack of deference then, remembering Aramis' reaction last time Athos had left, his response softened.

'He arose early and requested permission to collect his horse ready for tomorrow,' Treville replied, Aramis interrupting almost before the Captain could finish his sentence.

'And you believed him?' the marksman asked, panic now evident in his voice. Porthos laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, preventing him from raining accusations down upon their superior.

Treville's eyes narrowed. 'Of course I believed him. It would not bode well for our future together if I interrogated him about his intentions every time, he left the garrison. Athos is his own man, Aramis, he will do what he chooses, and nothing you nor I can do will stop him. You need to show more faith and give him room to breathe, or you will drive him away.' With that, he turned abruptly and closed the door behind him, leaving a shocked Aramis and a thoughtful Porthos in his wake.

Porthos steered the silent Musketeer down the stairs to their bench in the courtyard. A silent Athos was one thing, a silent Aramis was not good at all.

'Want to tell me what that was all about?' Porthos asked kindly, having fetched them both a drink. Aramis looked up at his friend. His face attempted defiance, but those dark eyes showed he had recognised the truth behind Treville's words – even if he was afraid of the implications.

'Do you think we could push him away, make him run again?' He did not wait for Porthos to reply. 'Athos left the garrison last night; I have no idea where he went. I waited up and watched for him to go.' He shook his head sadly. 'Of course he knew, he managed to leave without me seeing. I was afraid he had chosen not to return.' Aramis focused on something far away that only he could see, unaware of the chattering cadets as they set about their training. With a deep sigh, Porthos began to speak.

'Yer know nobody was angrier than me when Athos up and left last time. 'E has explained 'is reasons, and I don't believe 'e would be cruel enough to do that again, particularly to you,' Aramis looked up at his friend in surprise, but eventually nodded his understanding. 'We just 'ave to face the fact that there may always be a level of uncertainty with Athos; with a little work it won't last forever. 'owever, until then, we 'ave to give 'im room. Treville 'ad a point, Athos is like a cornered animal, if 'e feels threatened or 'is private self is under attack 'e will simply fly. Give 'im time and space Aramis, 'e is quite capable of looking after 'imself.' At this, Aramis widened his eyes in amazement. 'Well, most of the time,' added Porthos, laughing and patting Aramis on the shoulder.

As if summoned by their concern, the sound of hooves echoed through the archway, horse and rider creating an impressive, if somewhat intimidating, sight. The large black stallion tossed his mane as if to announce his arrival, whilst the silent, imposing rider – in his recognisable black leather – made no sound or acknowledgment. He slid from the saddle, politely waving the stable boy away, indicating that he would attend to his own horse.

Porthos watched Aramis as he observed the swordsman vanish inside the stable.

'Give 'im a while, whatever ails 'im, an hour with Roger will soothe 'im. I swear that 'orse actually gives 'im advice.' Aramis laughed at Porthos' serious expression, as the big man pondered the possibility as he stared thoughtfully at the stable entrance.

The two men spent the next few hours helping pack and sort weapons and ammunition for their impending journey. Aramis had checked the infirmary, and was glad to discover that, though the men within were still ill, they were no longer considered in danger. As well as that, he was informed that Lemay and a nurse, had visited The Peacock. Unfortunately, the patron's wife and one of the girls had not survived the illness. However, the others were also out of danger and the well was being repaired, and its source checked to avoid reoccurrence of the terrible infection.

So, it was with a lighter heart that Aramis finally wandered into the stable. Though he had kept busy, he had also had one eye on the entrance throughout the morning. Athos had spent some time with Roger, before climbing the stairs to Treville's office, as the Captain had requested the evening before. Now, several hours later, he had observed Athos stride across the courtyard and re-enter the stable.

Approaching the doorway, Aramis was fully aware this was not the behaviour either Treville or Porthos had encouraged, but he felt powerless to stop himself. He, alone, had seen the look of despair in Athos' eyes when he had received that letter, and from what little the man had divulged about himself, Aramis suspected he knew who had sent it. If it was _her_, it could only bring Athos further heartache. Though Aramis might not be able to prevent it, he would support his friend if he needed it.

He found himself smiling at the sight that met his eyes. Athos stood between two stalls, hands outstretched between the bay mare and her larger neighbour. In his hands rested two shiny apples. As the horses greedily accepted the juicy treat, Athos fondled their noses and murmured softly. The marksman was in no doubt that the obstinate swordsman was delivering a sincere apology.

Aramis cleared his throat. Smiling as Athos turned, he noted the swordsman stiffen when he realised who it was. Avoiding all reference to the night before, he moved past Athos and stroked Roger's velvety nose.

'It is good to see you, boy, you have been missed, but you must not chatter so much to your master, he will go without his luncheon and Serge will throw a fit.' He nodded sagely to the horse, who appeared to be taking it all in, shaking his glossy, perfectly groomed head up and down, as if agreeing to play his part. Aramis gave the horse's neck one last pat.

'Shall we? Before Porthos consumes all of the ham?' Athos slapped Aramis on the shoulder and grinned, the relief on his face clear. He was aware Aramis had guessed of his night-time rendezvous, and that he did not ask any questions was a blessing Athos had not expected. Aramis was grateful now for the other's advice, as had he stormed in here demanding answers, Athos may well have left for good.

The three men ate their food in companionable silence, the tension from the previous evening no longer present. Much to Aramis' joy, Athos managed to consume a fair amount of bread, ham and cheese and, though he was hardly talkative, he was more sociable than he had been the night before. They were just leaning back, letting their meal digest, when Treville walked into the room. He sought out the three friends and barked his request.

'You three, prepare for the palace now!' Surprised, all of them stood in unison. Athos appeared the most shocked, before his emotional walls dropped back into place. He walked purposefully from the room, with no hint as to his thoughts, unaware that familiar eyes were watching his every move, horrified to see the swordmaster's return.

There was little he could do to prepare for the King; he tidied his hair, wishing now he had trimmed it, as it was too long for fashion and rather wild for a soldier. Still, his equipment was always in good order and his elegant sword hung at his side, a reassuring presence and the only remaining link to his former life that he allowed into the life he had now chosen. However, it was not the most valuable weapon he owned, that being his grandfather's sword, currently stored at the bottom of his trunk. The sword he now carried had been a gift from his father, not long before he had died. The man had almost complimented his son on his growing prowess but, as always, at the last minute had somehow turned it into a bitter failing. Still, it was a beautifully-crafted weapon, well balanced and made by a master, here in Paris. It was understated by most noblemen's standards, but deadly – not unlike its owner; and like the man who wielded it, the sword had surprised and dealt with many who had been fool enough to think themselves superior.

Satisfied that he could do little more, not having the advantage of an actual uniform, he would have to hope the King gave him no more than a cursory glance.

He strode across the yard to where the others were already mounted, and the stable boy passed Athos Roger's reins, as the man thanked him and pulled himself into the saddle. All four men rode in silence, Athos and Treville up front with Aramis and Porthos behind. Athos was aware that every now and again he would espy a dark head amidst the crowd, or a green cloak, that made his pulse race. Would he see her at the palace? Would Richelieu be watching his every move, hoping Athos would give the First Minister some sliver of information he could use to his advantage? Athos almost groaned aloud, cloaking his expression with a cough at the last moment. Added to that, he could still feel Aramis' desperation to discover his whereabouts last night emanating from the silent marksman, despite his earlier show of restraint. Aramis had witnessed Athos' reaction to her missive and, if he knew the marksman as well as he thought he did, then Aramis already suspected the source of the note.

The concerns spinning around in Athos' head made the journey pass quickly, and in no time at all they were dismounting and handing over their mounts to the waiting stable hands. They entered the palace, with Treville leading the way through the elaborate maze of corridors. Porthos noted how Athos now walked at the back of their group, and he could only guess what was going through the man's head after his last encounter with the King.

'Keep your head down, Athos, and try to go unnoticed,' Treville advised through gritted teeth, as they reached the double doors to the throne room. Porthos and Aramis exchanged worried glances, but Athos merely nodded. The large Musketeer appraised his friend – for a man who said little, his presence was almost too loud. Porthos had a sinking feeling that Athos did not know how to keep a low profile. Treville pushed open the large ornate doors, and Athos took a deep breath as images of the three of them bursting through these same doors only a few months ago flooded his memory.

'Ah, Treville,' grinned the King, 'at last you are here. We are most anxious to know if we are ready to begin our journey, are we not, my dear?' Louis took his wife's hand, awaiting her response.

'Indeed, Sire, if Captain Treville says we are ready, I shall be most reassured.' The Queen held Treville's gaze, managing to convey much in such a short sentence. The Musketeers were not sure whether she truly sought his reassurance, or whether she was hoping he would claim he needed longer. Still, whichever was the case, when he answered, her sweet smile did not falter.

'Then I am glad to inform Your Majesty that all is in order. Though my numbers are slightly depleted we are as prepared as we can be.'

For a second, the King's smile faded, and Aramis thought he saw a flicker of amusement in the Cardinal's smug expression; as always, he stood to the King's side, a little way behind to signify the loyal but _lowly_ servant he was.

As Louis began to pout, his gaze fell upon Athos, for despite both Treville's and Athos' intentions, the swordsman stood out easily from the rest of the Musketeers. His dark leather, and his rather unruly hair, along with the arrogant stance he so easily adopted, made him anything but invisible. Athos' heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked with the King, but to his surprise, Louis beamed.

Monsieur Athos, step forward.' Unflustered, and with more aplomb than the others would have expected, Athos moved toward the King and offered a courtly bow.

'Your Majesties,' Athos addressed the King and Queen. He dared not move his eyes away from the royal pair, where he had kept his gaze transfixed since he had entered the room. He was far too aware of the group of women standing near to the Queen; all his senses screamed she was there, and he did not want to see her.

'Why, Monsieur Athos, I hear tell tales of your great talent with a sword. The greatest swordsman in all of France, apart from me of course!' Louis gave a childish grin, feigning humility as he addressed his court, those witnessing the remark laughing appropriately as they were expected to.

'I am flattered, Your Majesty. I shall endeavour to honour your faith in me, though I hope such a display of prowess will not be necessary.' The King's smile faded, and he considered Athos' words.

'Indeed. It is true we anticipate an uneventful journey, but perhaps you might be persuaded at some point to display your skill.' Louis clapped his hands at his idea and Athos bowed low.

'At Your Majesty's pleasure.' Athos backed away and melted into the background as well as he was able. Watching Athos interact with the King – the confident tone, no sign of intimidation or discomfort – Treville wondered how anybody present could not realise Athos was high born, for it screamed from every tilt of his head and the tone of his voice. As the King began to chatter with some other minor courtier, he glanced toward the Cardinal. Following the First Minister's cold stare, to his alarm, he realised Richelieu was watching Athos carefully. It was not the first time Treville had observed Athos come under the bastard's scrutiny, but the man was not a fool, and if Treville thought Athos' breeding obvious, then the Cardinal would surely reach the same conclusion.

Treville shivered as a thought occurred to him. Richelieu had been at court for many years, so could he have known the former Comte de la Fère? Did he, too, recognise Athos' noble bearing and eloquence for what it was, and make the connection? The regiment was full of second and third sons of the nobility, though none were as high born, or held a title as important as Athos', and _none_ of them sought to hide their situation and behave as a lowly soldier.

As Treville shifted his attention back to Athos, he saw that the confident, superior man who had addressed the King as his equal was gone. Now there stood a man rigid and uncomfortable, his concentration fixed upon a far point on the ceiling. It was not royalty, or fine surroundings that bothered him, but something in the room was making the young man distinctly uneasy, and his complexion had visibly paled.

oOo

Milady had dressed in her most suitable gown to meet the Queen – no, that was not strictly true, the gown had not been hers, but she had appropriated it out of necessity. It was not a style she favoured, but then she was about to serve, not seduce – at least not yet. She walked into the elaborate apartment that belonged to the Queen and curtsied low.

'Please stand, my dear Anne. I am most pleased to welcome you home to France, and of course we are most sorry for your loss.' The Queen helped the woman before her to her feet.

Milady kept her eyes lowered, her demeanour meek and subservient. 'You do me a great honour, Your Majesty. When my husband passed, I am afraid he left me in rather reduced circumstance, and I did not know what my future would hold. To be back in my beloved France, and to be given such an opportunity, is surely a wonderful gift.' She managed to squeeze a few delicate tears, a trick she had used many, many times.

'And we are delighted to have you. We are about to embark upon a most interesting journey, so we will have plenty of time to get to know each other.' Milady curtsied again as the Queen walked past. Though Her Majesty was young and beautiful, she was no fool, and Milady understood she would have to be on her guard.

She followed the entourage down the corridor and into a large room. The King rose to greet his wife, and Milady took in the finery and jewels that dripped from every person present, man and woman alike. Rich pickings indeed, perhaps the journey would have its perks after all. The Queen took her seat beside her husband and the women gathered to one side. At that moment, the doors opened and in strode Treville and his men, but _her_ eyes were glued on Athos. She could not help a small gasp as he entered; as always, he walked with a cocky swagger, no deference in his bearing at all. The young woman next to her began to giggle, assuming Milady's reaction was to the Musketeers' arrival.

'They are all very handsome are they not?' she whispered. Playing along, Milady replied, hoping the irony in her voice was well concealed.

'Yes, indeed they are. Are they Musketeers? I have heard so much about the King's regiment.'

'Oh yes,' the girl replied, 'The one over there is Aramis,' she giggled again. 'Very popular with the ladies. The big one is Porthos, he looks rather frightening, but he has a wonderful smile.' She stopped then, but Milady could not help but ask.

'What about the one in black?'

'Ooh, that is Athos, he is rather mysterious. They say he saved the King and Queen's lives by leaping from that very window over there on Her Majesty's birthday, with a bomb no less – so brave.' She paused for just a moment, then added: 'He is very handsome, but rather serious.'

'And just a little sad,' Milady responded, wrapped up in the moment, simply stating what she saw.

'Yes, you are right, he does have a sadness about him. I wonder who broke his heart?' Both women watched the man as he conversed with the King, then stepped toward the back of the room.

'He has a rather fine voice,' sighed the woman on the other side of Milady. Mischief throbbed in her veins and she was sorely tempted to add: _indeed, especially when he is telling you what he is planning to do to you, once he gets you into his bed_.

Though the thought made her smile, she simply replied: 'Indeed!'

The King remembered the Musketeer Captain was standing before him, the man becoming increasingly impatient.

'So, Captain tell us, what can we expect tomorrow?' Treville was somewhat taken unawares by the sudden change of conversation – what exactly did the King think was happening?

'We will leave early in the morning to make the most of the daylight, Sire. We should make good time, and there have been no reports of bandits.' At this, there was a faint gasp, as the court ladies huddled slightly closer together. As her companions reacted to the Captain's words, it was all Milady could do not to roll her eyes. Aramis looked over toward the Queen's retinue and gave them his most charming smile. He could not help noticing a new face amongst them, particularly as its owner appeared rather irritated by the reaction of the women around her. The woman was tall and willowy, dark hair piled on top of her head, small pearls threaded through her shiny curls. She turned and caught him looking, but there was no coy smile or fluttering lashes – no, this woman responded with an arched brow and a smile that spoke of sin. Yet some memory stirred in Aramis' head; he was not one to forget a beautiful face, and this woman was undoubtedly beautiful, but he could not help but feel they had met before.

Treville had resumed talking once more. 'We should reach Versailles by late afternoon, in time for Your Majesty to take his rest before dinner. The morning after, we will travel to the home of the Baron de Bruyères. The Baron is not on your list, as he attended your party, indeed, he sustained a slight injury. He is the younger brother of the Duke de Berry, a member of your council, Sire, and a loyal subject. It was not possible to make Rambouillet in less than three days with so large a party travelling by carriage.' If he had hoped to put the King off, it did not work, in fact he seemed all the more excited. Treville paused whilst the King clapped his hands in delight, before adding:

'The Duke d'Angennes has received word of your impending arrival.' Louis smiled, and now rubbed his hands together like a child with a naughty secret.

'Excellent! Now we shall see what the Duke has to say about his absence from our party, will we not, Cardinal?'

'Yes, Sire, we will indeed.' It was the first time the Cardinal had spoken, but his next words surprised even the King. 'Monsieur Athos, you look most perturbed, is something amiss? Do you have something you wish to say?' Treville and the others turned in shock as the Cardinal addressed Athos; it was most irregular, and the entire court appeared to hold its breath. Athos was furious with himself – of all the times to allow his thoughts to show, now was not one of them. He had been thinking of Julienne and their stay at the Château Rambouillet. He knew her parents, the Duke and Duchess d'Angennes, as they had been friends of his parents, though he had not seen Julienne since he was a boy. He had been concerned she would identify him during their last visit, but she had said nothing.

'No, Your Eminence. I have nothing to add.' Athos held the Cardinal's glare, he should have lowered his eyes or showed some deference, but breeding will out, and he could not bring himself to do so.

'Oh please, Monsieur, I can see you have something on your mind, please share.' Richelieu oozed encouragement, as his cold eyes swept from Athos to Milady. However, she was waiting and, though her heart hammered in her chest, she schooled her features, showing nothing more than mild interest, keeping her gaze on Aramis. Still not satisfied and irked to find Milady de Winter refusing to take the bait, he tried once more.

'If you know something, you are obliged to tell your King.' Now Louis showed more interest, deciding that somehow, a refusal to speak was a slight to his position.

With a rather fragile smile the King spoke. 'Surely you do not refuse your King, Athos?' The swordsman bowed low once more, his mind working furiously to limit the damage of the situation.

'Nothing could be further from the truth, Your Majesty, I was simply following the conversation with interest.' The King examined Athos for a moment, unfortunately deciding that, today of all days, he was going to show an intelligent connection to the subject Athos so desperately wished to avoid.

'You stayed at the Château briefly when you escorted my _brother _to Paris, did you not?' Louis asked. The Cardinal narrowed his eyes, not sure where the conversation was heading.

'Indeed, Sire, we stayed for one night, but the Duke and Duchess were not in residence. They were purported to be on their way to Paris. The Lady Julienne was hosting a ball that had been planned prior to Your Highness's invitation, enabling the event to go ahead despite her parents' absence.' Aramis, Porthos and Treville were aware that this was a lengthy speech for Athos, and to them it was clear he was attempting to make a point.

The King frowned. 'If that is the case, why did they never arrive, Cardinal?' Richelieu shuffled, casting daggers in Athos' direction.

'There _was_ a note from the Duke, Your Majesty, something about illness halting their journey. But of course, by the time it arrived the celebrations had… been abandoned, so it carried very little weight.'

'Still, Cardinal, we must give the Duke the opportunity to explain. It is possible his absence was genuine. Thank you, Monsieur Athos, for bringing this to our attention. Now, I have much to prepare before the morrow. By the way Treville, when you said _early_, you did not mean before I have broken my fast?'

Treville gave a reassuring smile, he had anticipated such a question. 'No, Sire, you will not be disturbed until you have finished your repast.' The King looked relieved and flashed the Captain a beaming smile.

'Excellent. I bid you good day Treville.' He gave Athos a small nod of his head as he left, the Queen pausing as she reached the spot where the swordsman stood.

'Thank you for your insight, Monsieur Athos. The Duke and Duchess have always been most loyal, and dear Julienne is a good friend. I am most pleased to hear there may be a genuine reason for their absence. I am glad you will be joining our party.' Athos bowed low and wondered what had possessed him to bring himself to the King's attention, especially as he noted the parting look the Cardinal gave him. But he stood firm and faced the First Minister down, pride preventing him from allowing this man to get the better of him. As he held his ground, the scent of jasmine filled his senses and he knew she was close. Luckily, the Cardinal turned and flounced from the room just as Athos locked eyes with Milady. The look on her face was odd, and he almost believed she was afraid.

Treville nodded his head to his men and they turned to follow his lead as he strode purposefully from the room.

Porthos grinned. Always one to speak his mind, he slapped Athos on the back and said: 'That went well. The King was pleased, and the Queen was delighted.' Athos was grateful for his friend's enthusiasm, yet he turned to Treville, already anticipating the man's response.

'What part of _keep your head down_ did you not understand? The last time I told you to mingle quietly, you jumped out of the window with a bomb. Now you deliberately annoy the second most powerful man in France and practically flout your low opinion of him. For God's sake, man, what would you do if I told you to make an impression?' Despite the accuracy of Treville's statement, Porthos and Aramis were hardly able to withhold their mirth. The look on Athos' face finally changed to one of dismay, as he allowed himself to admit the arrogance of his actions, and painfully accepted the Captain's admonishment. 'You have made an enemy today, Athos – not that I think he was not one before. Just what you have done to annoy him I do not know, but you need to watch your back, son.'

'Do not worry Captain,' said Aramis, 'that is mine and Porthos' job.' The two men strode either side of Athos, and for once the man was extremely grateful for their presence.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Athos could not believe what had just occurred, he must have been completely mad. Mad, and so consumed by her presence that now he could not think straight. What good would he be protecting the King, if she were also in harm's way? That, of course, bought up a whole new dilemma. Did he protect her? He had sentenced her to hang, but had failed to end her life. So should he be the one to ensure no harm befell her on the journey, or should he ignore her fate and consider justice had been done if she were killed? True, she was still his wife, and yet she was also a liar and a murderer. God it was a mess; but he had long since ceased to blame God – the fault was his alone.

Aramis walked beside Athos, aware of Porthos flanking the swordsman's other side. Both men were keenly aware that they had promised to protect him from the First Minister of France, even though he was a man who could so easily slip out from under their noses, and a man who was only willing to tell what he wanted others to know. If they had any chance of helping Athos against this new foe, then he was going to have to give them some answers. To begin with, why was the Cardinal so interested in him? Thinking back to the first time Athos had stood before the King, Richelieu had shown an unusual level of interest even then.

Porthos was the first to break the uneasy silence as the men mounted their horses.

'Perhaps we should rethink his look.' He gave Athos a considered appraisal and winked at Aramis.

Athos was determined not to be dragged into the conversation and simply scowled at the big Musketeer, his outrage not affecting the mischievous Porthos one bit. Aramis was thrilled at the prospect of taunting Athos, partly in revenge for his loss of sleep, and partly because it was simply entertaining.

'You might have a point, he is rather conspicuous. What did you have in mind?' Aramis contributed. Treville smiled at the two men's antics but said nothing.

'Well, for a start, the black would have to go, he looks far too… malevolent.' Pleased with his choice of words, Porthos attempted to look as serious as he could.

'Malevolent?' Aramis, pursed his lips and studied the stoic Athos, who was still staring straight ahead. 'I think perhaps brooding would be a better term, and enigmatic. Of course, the ladies like brooding and enigmatic, so that is a bonus, but probably not for Athos.' Aramis shook his head as if this were a missed opportunity.

'Needs to cut his hair, he looks like a pirate,' Porthos added, obviously now beginning to find it difficult to keep a straight face.

'That is not necessarily a bad thing, pirates have a certain romantic quality. Perhaps he should smile more. Look slightly less intimidating.'

'Nah,' Porthos shook his head, 'then he would just look simple.' Athos had had enough. As if he didn't have enough problems, now he had to listen to these two clowns as well.

Turning to Porthos, who had started this ridiculous debate, Athos delivered a most withering stare and, despite his amusement, Porthos had to admit he was glad they were on the same side.

'Do you wish to spar with me when we return to the garrison?' The smile that had hovered on Porthos' lips wavered, and for a moment he was not sure if Athos was indeed truly angry. Then he noticed the slight twinkle in the swordsman's eye and pretended to give the question due consideration.

'Well let's see, the last time you took on Aramis and me, you won. Perhaps I should consult my partner and see if we wish a return match.' Porthos pretended to lean around Athos who also turned his scrutiny upon Aramis.

'What do you think Aramis, shall we consider a wager with our friend? He wins, he can continue to dress as he sees fit, if we win, we get to… soften his look.' Aramis was struggling, and Athos cut him such a glare that the marksman had to hide his smile behind his hand. It was Treville who saved the moment.

'At this point, I think Athos might injure the pair of you, and you would deserve it. Though I must admit, it would be fun to watch. Unfortunately, I cannot afford to lose you, so I suggest you apologise and save your energy for tomorrow.' Though he made an effort to look severe, _so_ put out did Athos appear, that he, too, was trying hard not to laugh. Aramis began to chuckle.

'I am sorry, mon ami, but I am ashamed to say I do enjoy teasing you, you do make it so easy.' Now he began to laugh in earnest, and Porthos and Treville finally joined in. Athos quirked a brow and tried to maintain his ill humour though, if he were honest, banter such as this saved him from himself when he was in danger of sinking deep into a pit of despair. He enjoyed their teasing far more than he would ever admit.

'I believe Porthos has a rather fine brandy he has been saving for a special occasion,' Athos stated, his voice deadpan and giving nothing away.

Porthos frowned. 'How do you know?' This time it was Athos' turn to snort – the closest to him laughing as they were likely to see.

'I do not, but there was a rather conspicuous clinking in your room when you made a fuss about tidying up the other evening, and I have never seen you so worried about cleaning before.' Porthos stared, open-mouthed.

'It might have been wine,' he pouted, noting the look of satisfaction upon Athos' face.

'It might have been, but now I know it was not.' He responded with a rather smug expression of his own and Porthos guffawed.

'You were fishin'! You 'ad no idea, did you?' It was Athos' turn to smile – something they had not seen much of just lately. Arriving at the garrison gates, the atmosphere was a much happier one than when they had left the Louvre. Whether it would last, remained to be seen. When the men had dismounted and handed the horses over, Treville turned to Athos and, to his surprise, placed a hand upon the man's shoulder.

'Athos, a minute if you do not mind.' He turned then and hurried across the courtyard toward the stairs. Athos frowned – the gesture was odd, and the Captain had not commanded him to follow or asked him to help with a problem. For some reason, he felt uneasy. He had been prepared for Aramis' questions, but he had not expected the interrogation to come from Treville. The yard was full of men preparing for the morrow's journey, and the occasional pair of cadets practising their fencing. In the distance, muskets could be heard, signifying practice taking place in the field beyond the garrison. Life was hurtling around them, but the three men stood still, tension crackling in the air once more. Shrugging his shoulders, Athos had turned and made to follow the Captain, when Aramis' voice rang out.

'We will be waiting, mon ami.' Athos faltered for a second before continuing, knowing they would indeed be there for him, when whatever Treville had to say was over.

Athos' feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs, running various scenarios through his head. Treville might wish to know why the Cardinal had taken so much interest in him, or he might have discovered that he had left the garrison against his explicit orders, neither being issues he particularly wished to discuss. Reluctantly, he knocked upon the door and listened to the familiar call to enter. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold.

Treville paced the floor of his office and wiped his brow, not even sure why he had asked Athos to come and see him. Something was bothering the Captain, but he was not certain what, and he rather hoped Athos would tell him what he wanted to know, before he himself managed to work it out. However, he understood that the chances of Athos volunteering information was as likely as Porthos giving up cards, or Aramis women. The knock upon the door made him start. Barking out his invitation, he sat behind his desk, not wanting to make Athos feel ill at ease.

The young man stood before him, tall and straight, but obviously uncomfortable and, as before, he identified a spot upon the wall and stared at it intently.

'Sit down Athos, I have not called you here to berate you.' Treville, kept his tone light, struggling to find the questions that would hopefully unlock Athos' tongue.

Treville decided to approach the matter from what he saw as a harmless angle.

'Did you know the Duke and his family? Is that why you were determined to place them in a good light?' Athos frowned and faced the Captain, the question had made him think, but he showed no sign of concern.

'The Duke was a friend of my father, they knew each other from childhood I believe. We stayed at their estate for several weeks when I was seventeen – it was the Lady Julienne's birthday I seem to recall.' Athos said nothing more, waiting for Treville to make the next move. The Captain considered the information, before he continued:

'She did not recognise you?' Athos looked somewhat wary as he contemplated his reply.

'She believed we had met before, but luckily she could not remember when. I doubt she would have made the connection between the boy she met briefly ten years ago and the man escorting Gaston.' He paused then shrugged his shoulders. 'I must admit, I was glad when she became distracted by the murder of Montmorency, as it was obvious she was trying hard to remember.' He decided there was no need to mention dancing – it was a moment he wished to forget.

Treville looked at the man who addressed him from the other side of the desk. He had lived another life before this, a life of luxury and comfort – the life of a gentleman. Yet this young man had left it all behind and embraced a very different existence. Without the intervention of Aramis and Porthos, Treville shuddered to think what would have happened to Athos had he been left to his own devices. However, one thing was for certain, Treville had met the lady Julienne on several occasions and, from what he had observed, he somehow doubted that she had forgotten the young viscount, and it was only a matter of time before she made the connection.

'Why do you think Richelieu is taking such an interest in you, it is not his usual style. I doubt he notes the expressions of either Musketeers or Red Guards normally, but he was taking far too much interest in you. Is there something I should know?' Now Athos felt his pulse race. He was about to lie to a man to whom he owed so much, a man who did not deserve his subterfuge.

'I can think of no reason, only the obvious, that my first encounter was not the most auspicious, and my actions since have not helped my case.' He hoped this was a reasonable offering, as he could not bring himself to admit his wife's connection with the First Minister, or the man's growing obsession over their possible connection.

'Athos, you must know that when you are addressed in court, you do not behave as an ordinary soldier would do. The Cardinal is no fool, he is beginning to realise you are not the man you were first suspected of being.' Athos locked eyes with Treville but merely sighed and shook his head.

'He cannot make any connection between me and the De la Fère title. It is not worth your time to worry about such a possibility.' Treville knew the end of a conversation when he heard one, though he had not managed to extract the information he had sought. Something had been bothering the young man in that throne room, but it was not the King, and apparently not the Cardinal. He was perplexed as ever but, much to Athos' relief, Treville changed the subject.

'There is something else you should know about tomorrow.' He watched Athos carefully as he passed on the information he had been dreading having to impart. 'Deveaux will be accompanying us. I tried to make a good excuse to leave him behind, but with so many men ill or absent, I did not want him to have any sway over the men left in the garrison – better to have him where I can see him. I do not believe he will cause any trouble, but you should be aware of his presence, as I know he dislikes you and you need to take care. I am afraid I do not trust him.'

It took a great deal for Treville to admit such a thing about one of his own men, but he knew of the history between Athos and the surly Musketeer. It had been Deveaux who had allowed the scarred man access to the infirmary when Athos was recovering from the incident with the bomb. Aramis had dealt with the disgraced Musketeer, so Treville had heard through the grapevine, but he still worried about the dynamics between the two men. Deveaux had never forgiven Athos – someone he regarded as a mere nobody – from showing him up in front of the other men and a group of cadets, whilst sparring with him when he had first arrived. Treville suspected his hate for the swordsman had only festered and grown since then.

Athos nodded, 'Do not concern yourself, I can manage Deveaux.' Satisfied he had given the young man due warning, Treville began to explain his arrangements for the upcoming tour.

The two men discussed the placement of men and the royal party, and what might be necessary to ensure a smooth journey from Paris to Versailles. The hunting lodge was small in comparison to many royal properties, but the Musketeers would make camp outside, with only a small contingent within; after all, it was only for one night. The two men made plans, their conversation now relaxed and productive, with Athos fully participating in the logistics of such an endeavour, and Treville enjoying having someone of Athos' calibre to question his own strategies and offer ones of his own. In all, he was very glad to have the young man back in the garrison, and this time he would do everything possible to ensure he stayed.

When the two men had considered the route from every angle and debated every eventuality, they decided they had done all they could; night was well underway and Treville had watched Athos try to stifle a yawn. The Captain thanked him for his input and sent Athos on his way, with instructions to eat well and get plenty of rest. Despite the King's concerns over an early departure, the Musketeers would be up a little after dawn to make their preparations, before travelling to the palace to await His Majesty's arrival.

Tired, and with the beginnings of a headache, Athos made his way down the stairs, and was just debating whether to retreat to his room and the waiting bottle of wine when he heard a familiar voice.

'So, you have returned. It did not take you long to worm your way back into the Captain's good books, did it? Still, it is early days, and a long way between Paris and our various destinations. A lot can happen on the road – it can be a very dangerous place.' Athos turned to see Deveaux leering out of the darkness, cup in hand. For a second, he debated whether he should point out that drinking in excess was not such a good idea before a mission, but instead he simply turned his back and walked away.

'That is it, you coward, walk away! That is what you are good at after all!' The snide remark, stung, even though it had come from the mouth of a man such as Deveaux. But the Musketeer did not realise how true his remark had been – that _was _exactly what he was good at.

Athos had just decided the bottle of wine beside his bed was a siren calling out to him, when yet another voice interrupted his thoughts. This time the gentle tone was all too familiar, and yet it made his heart hitch far more than the spite and aggression of Deveaux.

'Were you not going to join us for supper?' Aramis questioned. His dark eyes showed a hint of sorrow, even in the poor light of the courtyard. Athos looked at his friend and managed the ghost of a smile.

'Treville and I have talked a great deal, I thought I would retire early,' Athos offered, though he knew it sounded weak. Aramis nodded.

'It will be an early start, and I suspect we will be kept waiting for some time before we finally set off. I would recommend a good meal now, for who knows what might occur before our next one.' Athos knew the man's words made sense, after all the Musketeer was a veteran campaigner and his advice was sound. Deciding Aramis would not let him go to his room without food, he smiled, changed direction, and headed toward the refectory.

Aramis had clearly heard what Deveaux had said to Athos, but had decided to say nothing. He would inform Porthos, and between them they would keep an eye on the man they saw as a traitor. Athos had other things on his mind and, if conversations were to be had, Aramis had more important questions than Deveaux and his antics.

oOo

Milady watched the Queen retire to her private rooms. She was desperate to retire too, exhausted by all the inane chatter and excitement caused by tomorrow's journey. Not all of the ladies-in-waiting were to accompany the royal party, and she was not sure what the Cardinal had said to ensure she was included following such short acquaintance. Still, she had smiled, shared interesting anecdotes and listened to the Queen's every word, thankful that the woman was at least intelligent and witty; she would have gone mad if she had been as empty-headed as some of the others within her entourage. However, it was not to be, and a message from the Cardinal had her moving swiftly down the silent corridors toward her meeting. Tonight, he had summoned her to his office within the Louvre, where she had not been before, always having attended him in his private apartments.

Milady knocked gently and listened for the answering summons. Walking into the room, she was surprised by its warmth and ambience. Compared to his usual surroundings, this office was much smaller and far more intimate. A large desk dominated the compact study, and the walls were lined with volumes of books and ledgers, their rich bindings glowing jewel-like in the warm light radiating from the candles. Had not been for the chilly presence of the First Minister, she thought to herself, it would almost have been a comfortable room.

'You took your time, it is late,' Richelieu hissed. Obviously he was upset, and she would be on the receiving end of his dark mood.

'I could hardly tell the Queen I had other things to do. You placed me in this role, and you understand the expectations of such a position. I came as soon as the Queen retired. Believe me, I would have come sooner had I been able. I may have to smother some of them in their sleep if I have to listen to their stupid chatter every day,' she added, raising a brow, and the Cardinal smiled, amused by her irritation.

'Yes, I am sure it must be purgatory for one such as you. Still, do not worry, I am sure we can find _something_ for you to do to relieve the boredom of such a journey.' Richelieu's face became serious, his brow wrinkling in frustration, his narrow face taking on a demonic quality in the flickering shadows. Milady shivered, as if the man himself exuded an evil chill.

'Cold, my dear? I am surprised. I note there is rather more to the dress you are wearing than usual. Still, I doubt it will reduce your charms if such a skill be needed.' Milady would love to have reached out and slapped his smug face. She thought back to Athos' reaction when he had realised the depth of her betrayal, how he had recoiled at the idea that she had been this man's mistress. Though she hated her husband for his holier than thou judgement, she could hardly blame him, and how she had tolerated Richelieu in her bed at all she could no longer remember. She was just glad that he had now found far better ways to occupy her time, even if that meant she had to share the bed of _someone else_, in order to make sure the First Minister got what he needed.

'I will travel in the coach with the King and Queen, you will follow with some of your new friends.' He again stretched those narrow lips into a terrifying grin, visibly enjoying the prospect of her discomfort. 'The third carriage will hold several other courtiers and the King's wardrobe master. Keep your eyes and ears open, there are rumblings that Gaston has returned from Belgium, where his mother is staying with friends. There are too many loose ends from the party debacle for my liking. The man who fled with Gaston from Paris has never been identified and could be anyone, possibly lurking at any of the locations on our itinerary. I have also ensured a small party of Red Guard accompany us. Treville does not know – I could not bear to hear him whine about how it was the Musketeers' duty to guard the King. Anyhow, they are guarding me, so it is not his concern.' He grew thoughtful but said nothing.

'I believe a large number of the Musketeers are only cadets,' she said, wanting to add that she had more faith in those young men than the Cardinal's guards, but she knew better. Richelieu appeared pleased by the information.

'Indeed, excellent, but then he does have the finest swordsman in all of France as his secret weapon, so I suppose he can afford a few wet behind the ears cadets.' He watched her face, but she gave him no satisfaction. However, she could not help baiting him slightly.

'The King appeared to listen to him this morning and is eager to see if his skill is as good as it has been described.' She gazed wide-eyed at the Cardinal, her practised air of indifference masking her very real interest.

Richelieu hissed, 'Let us hope it _is_ true, though I very much doubt it. In any case, with a little luck, we may never make it as far as Rambouillet. The King is easily put off under the right circumstances. So, we may have need of Monsieur Athos yet – an exhibition we are all eagerly awaiting.' Milady tossed her hair.

'I can assure you that men posturing with their weapon of choice have long ceased to interest me. Now if there is nothing else, I am tired.' The Cardinal chuckled at her statement.

'We will see, will we not, _Milady de Winter_?' There was something about the way his eyes narrowed and the manner in which he emphasised her name as she turned to leave, that filled her with dread. He was a ruthless man, and when she no longer provided a useful service, she was sure she would become one of those loose ends _he_ so hated.

oOo

Athos had surprised himself; he had eaten most of a bowl of soup and all of the accompanying bread and cheese. For the first time in days, nobody had interrupted him, and his discussion with Treville had taken his mind of his troubles, allowing him to make up for all those missed and spoilt meals of recent days. Now he was full and tired, his headache had worsened, and he knew he needed rest. Hopefully, his level of exhaustion, a full stomach and the bottle beside his bed, would ensure he had at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was considering this when he heard his name being called.

'Athos! Are you listening, or have you fallen asleep at the table? It would not be the first time.' The two Musketeers chuckled. Indeed, Athos had in the past become so tired, and had refused to rest to such an extent, that he had practically needed to be carried to his room, too tired to walk unaided.

'I assure you I am awake, though perhaps not for much longer.' He managed a small grin, but it was clear he was struggling against fatigue. If Aramis had hoped to discuss the swordsman's whereabouts the previous evening, it was not going to be tonight. Still, there were many miles of riding over the next few weeks, or months, and Aramis was nothing if not persistent. Anyway, Athos would be in a much better frame of mind once the tour began. What was the worst that could happen? They could be attacked, the King's life threatened, damaged coaches might cause them to be stranded in the middle of nowhere – all being events which Athos would thrive upon. Aramis had to admit that it _was _rather worrying that such a dismal set of circumstances were needed to bring out the best in someone, but then he had never met anyone like Athos.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Athos had slept well, a fact that left him somewhat bemused when he finally awoke a little before dawn. It had been so long since he had slept without visitations, or other such torment, that he lay looking at the ceiling for some time, trying to gain a sense of how to behave. He was rested – neither his head nor his limbs ached – and he felt good, and that in itself was most disconcerting.

Athos swung his legs out of bed and sat for a moment, just in case he had underestimated his well-being. When the room did not spin, and his stomach did not roil, he stood beside the bed and, once sure of his stability, worked through a series of controlled manoeuvres designed to stretch and unravel the knots of sleep that had settled into his limbs.

Reaching for a clean shirt, he continued to dress in a manner befitting the day ahead. Packing the rest of his belongings into his saddle bags, he made ready to join the others and break his fast.

Athos suspected he should be experiencing some sense of unease, or at least should not feel as calm as he did; Aramis would have noted that there was even a spring in the swordsman's step as he swaggered into the refectory.

Porthos was already seated and tucking into a generous breakfast which Serge had prepared for the men destined to leave with the King's party. As he noted Athos approach, the big man looked up and beamed.

'And a very good mornin' to you, and don't we look chirpy this fine morning.' Porthos slapped Athos on the back as the swordsman set his own tray upon the table, frowning as the over-zealous greeting almost caused his plate to fall to the floor.

'Do you have to be quite so demonstrative with your welcome? Serge would not be impressed if he saw me throw his carefully prepared breakfast around the room,' complained Athos, as he raised a brow at the smiling Musketeer. But his eyes twinkled and Porthos was cheered by his friend's good humour.

The two men settled to eat, happy to sit in silence, knowing that when Aramis arrived their tranquillity would cease. As if to prove their point, the last of their trio joined the table with an abundance of smiles and good cheer.

'The sun is shining, the air is warm, and we are about to get out of Paris and enjoy a ride through the countryside.' Aramis beamed down at his colleagues, as the two men gazed at him with a certain amount of scepticism.

'You do not like the countryside,' Athos pointed out, his voice indicating a level of disbelief at the marksman's enthusiasm.

Aramis pouted. 'How can you say that? I love the trees and the birds and…' Porthos interrupted him.

'…the mud and the lumpy beds and the smell of the land.' He guffawed as Aramis' face dropped upon hearing the list of unpleasant associations.

'Nonsense, fresh air and the open road. We will not be sleeping rough, not with the company we are keeping,' Aramis pronounced, his excitement restored. Athos snorted.

'Do not be so sure. I doubt the nobles we are visiting are prepared to house twelve Musketeers. You may be sleeping beneath the stars yet.' But Aramis was in a good mood, and he would not be deterred by his friend's cynicism. He appraised Athos and raised a toast to his friend.

'You look fresh, I am glad to see you looking so at ease. I am sure the ladies of the court will swoon upon your arrival.' Though he did not realise it, Aramis could not have said a worse thing, and he was horrified when all of the colour drained from Athos' face. 'What is wrong, mon ami?' Athos swallowed the food in his mouth, even though he had not had the opportunity to chew it thoroughly, which in turn caused him to choke. When much slapping on the back had ensued and he could breathe and communicate freely, he responded to Aramis' question.

'Apologies, something lodged in my throat. There is nothing amiss, only your excessive good humour.' Porthos laughed and Aramis smiled, though he suspected Athos was not being honest, as he had seen the swordsman's reaction before he had even swallowed the food. Athos felt his mood beginning to waver, but was determined not to allow himself to dwell upon his friend's remark; he knew it had been made in jest and he was in no doubt more of the like would follow over the next few weeks – he was going to have to grow a very thick skin to survive the King's tour.

They finished their meal and, in ebullient mood, Aramis sat chattering and gossiping. Athos listened and made the appropriate responses, but he did not truly hear all that the man said. They rose from the table and said their farewells to Serge, though Porthos was clearly excited by the prospect of being fed in a noble household.

oOo

As the party made its way through the streets of Paris, many of its residents were prompted to stand and stare, for the regiment was quite a spectacular sight when in full uniform and riding out on mass. As Aramis had pointed out, it was indeed a beautiful spring morning and, though still early, even the Seine looked romantic, with mist curling upon its surface and the pale orange of the morning sky bathing the sleepy city in a warm light. However, the air still held a chill and the men were glad of their cloaks; it would be some time before the sun rose high enough in the sky to cast its warmth upon their faces.

Some of the worry had left Treville's face during the small hours of the morning, and Athos suspected the man was now resigned to whatever fate awaited them, trusting his men to do their duty and ensure the King's safe return to Paris. He had planned and planned again, considering every possible eventuality or problem that might arise during their journey, but both Athos and the Captain knew that there were plenty of surprises that could still await them upon the road. Vigilance was crucial – they could not afford to become complacent.

The Louvre loomed before them. It was a beautiful building and the garden's splendour only added to the delight of the honeyed glow under the morning sun. Late spring flowers swayed gently in the slight breeze as the Musketeers rode in formation, their cloaks billowing like fluttering feathers with the rhythmic sway of their mounts.

Treville bought the company to a halt before the steps to the palace, where four carriages awaited their occupants. One was for baggage only, which was already weighed down by trunks and travel necessities. It was hardly unexpected, and once again the Captain thanked God for fair weather, as a carriage so laden would have been a nightmare along muddy roads and tracks.

The men dismounted and stood to attention as they awaited their King.

'You know he is goin' to keep us standin' 'ere for hours don't yer?' Porthos whispered to Aramis. Athos giving him a warning look of disapproval, but Aramis merely sighed, resigned to their fate. The time did drag, and the men were beginning to shuffle, trying to regain some feeling in their stiff and numb limbs. Treville had started pacing, and Athos feared the man was beginning to lose his patience.

'If we 'ave to wait much longer, the King will be wantin' to stop for luncheon before we reach the outskirts of Paris,' grumbled Porthos. Aramis stifled a chuckle and even Athos smirked at the observation. At that, Treville removed his hat and placed it beneath his arm as he stalked inside the palace entrance and disappeared from sight.

'Oops,' Aramis grimaced. At the sight of their Captain storming into the palace, the entire group of Musketeers exchanged looks varying from amused to genuine alarm.

'Let us hope His Majesty is in a similar mood to Aramis,' Athos remarked in his usual deadpan tone of voice. They waited for almost another hour, before Treville emerged, his face a mixture of anger and triumph. He gestured for the men to mount before stopping in front of the three men.

'Aramis, the King's carriage, Porthos the court party, and Athos the ladies – I cannot trust them with Aramis.' That said, he turned abruptly and began to redirect the mounted men in readiness for their departure. Aramis pouted at Athos. 'I am truly hurt. Remember to smile nicely, Athos, and do not glower at them, they will be terrified.' With that, he walked toward the leading coach and awaited the royal party. Porthos, not concerned either way, made headway toward the third, whilst Athos, tried to regulate his breathing.

He berated himself for such weakness and forced his legs toward the second coach, telling himself his legs were merely stiff from standing to attention.

This time, they did not have long to wait. The King was the first to emerge, the Queen upon his arm; the couple seemed to shine beneath the pale spring sunshine, though whether they were dressed for the rigours of a day's travel remained to be seen. Richelieu, on the other hand, presented an arresting juxtaposition, part cleric, part soldier, and Athos had to wonder exactly what the man was expecting to encounter. Aramis helped the Queen to board with his usual charm and exuberance, whilst in contrast, Athos remained polite but removed as he offered his hand to the Queen's companions – all coy smiles and fluttering eyelashes, except for two of them. A blonde woman of a similar age to Athos paused as he held out his hand. She was unlike the rest of her party, her smile less unworldly and a quirk of her brow spoke of a confidence and spark.

'Good morning Monsieur Athos, it is a beautiful day for our journey is it not?' Athos smiled politely as he handed her into the coach.

'Indeed it is, my Lady. I wish you a comfortable trip.' He stepped back, aware of the giggling their brief exchange had caused. Then he turned, and _she_ was there, head tilted slightly to one side, her hand outstretched for him to hold, and a knowing smile upon her lips.

'Good morning, Monsieur, will you be our escort for today I wonder?' She held his gaze and, though he tried, he could not pull away, the memory of that soft but urgent kiss exploding from his memory unbidden. She looked down at their hands, reminding him with a cat-like smile that he had been holding it for too long under the scrutiny of present company. Aware they were being closely observed, he took a breath and assisted her into the coach, not caring to answer her query, knowing it was only intended to discomfort him. As he inhaled the scent of jasmine, he fought down the memories it evoked, instead he swung himself onto his horse and faced in the direction of their travel, his face set in grim determination.

Milady did not need to watch his retreat to realise how uncomfortable he was in her presence. She smiled to herself, perhaps she could slake her revenge in an entirely different way after all, it may even have a few unexpected perks.

As she settled back in the seat, she became aware of the attention she had caused, the other women eager to discuss Athos' intense consideration. Only one person did not feel the need to giggle over Milady's perceived success – Lady Suzanne d'Angou the second daughter of some far-flung nobleman and a very distant cousin of the Queen. She was a beautiful, if arrogant, blonde, and found very little pleasure with the other women of the court, though where she _did_ find it was a constant source of gossip. She was certainly more akin to Milady de Winter than she would care to admit and, from the way the two women locked eyes, Athos had suddenly become the most coveted pawn in their battle for supremacy – a fact that would have scared him to death.

The only unexpected feature of their departure was the six Red Guards who flanked the King's coach, three on either side. Athos suspected it was this addition that had led to Treville's furious appearance on exiting the palace. No previous mention had been made of them accompanying the party, and he rightly guessed it had been the Cardinal's deliberate surprise.

The spectacle caused quite a stir as they slowly left the centre of Paris and passed through the less populated outskirts, but before long they were out in the countryside, and the air grew warm as the sun rose higher. The men soon found the blue capes warm and more of a hinderance than comfort, but with the King present, discarding them was not an option. The going was slow, and Treville had begun to worry they would not reach Versailles in good time, shuddering at the thought of travelling with such distinguished company in the dark.

oOo

As the cortege rolled along, the ladies-in-waiting began to fall victim to the warmth and rhythm of the swaying motion. Only Milady and Suzanne were left awake, both women deliberately avoiding eye contact and thus the need to converse. After a while, Athos, lost in thought and busy surveying the surrounding open space, drew level with the window, quite oblivious to the observation from the two women within.

Milady, too, was thinking of other things, though most of them would have bought a blush to the cheeks of her sleeping companions had they been able to read her mind. She stared at that haughty profile and it transported her to another time, another life.

_She had awoken early and stretched slowly, like a sleek and lazy cat. She lay naked, entangled in the sheets and the arms of the man beside her. Slowly reaching out, she stroked a lock of dark hair from across his cheek so she could see his profile more clearly. In sleep he looked much younger, softer, his thick_,_ dark hair dishevelled and curling softly upon the pillow. She wanted to reach out and touch, but she did not want to wake him, wishing simply to lie still and embrace the man she had married_,_ drinking in the promise he offered. His air of masculinity had arrested her from the first, not an effete noble like the ones she came across so often, mincing and in love with themselves alone. No, this man was every bit a _man_, from the moment he had caught her eye, brooding and enigmatic. She had worried that would change over time and_, _like most men in her life, he would eventually prove to be a disappointment._

_However, that had not been the case. Never had a man made her feel so alive, and even now as he slept, she began to feel her body responding to his presence, knowing that she would not be able to wait for long before waking him to satisfy the need that began to warm inside her. Her gaze travelled down his face, until it rested upon his mouth_,_ a mouth that could provide untold pleasure in ways even she had never encountered. _

_Suddenly he began to rouse, and his eyes fluttered open. There was no morning smile, no small talk or chatter. His gaze became hooded_,_ and he blatantly took in her naked form before a calculating smile graced that mouth, the mouth she could hardly tear herself away from, panting with anticipation, tormented by all that it promised. As he rolled her on to her back she moaned with pleasure, knowing what passion awaited._

'He is extremely handsome, is he not?' Suzanne announced, breaking into Milady's reverie. For a moment she was caught off guard. Even the memory of their encounters had the ability to stir her desire and she feared just what the woman opposite her might have observed. Assembling her features in a pleasant but neutral expression she pretended to notice Athos for the first time.

'A fine stallion, and a beautiful colour,' she replied, her lips twitching with humour. For a moment Suzanne simply watched, then she allowed herself to laugh at the obvious deflection.

'Yes, the horse too. In fact, they make a very handsome spectacle. I wonder what he is like in bed?' the woman mused, a mischievous smile playing upon her lips. Had she been taking a drink, Milady would have choked, so close had the woman come to reading what had been inside her head. She feigned shock, hiding her surprise behind her hand.

'My Lady, what a question! I am sure I cannot imagine such a thing.' Suzanne watched her closely, trying to gauge the sincerity of Milady's remark.

'It is Anne, is it not?' Milady nodded, still not ready to speak, afraid she would give herself away. She was used to the scrutiny of men, she had dealt with that all of her life, they were so easy to manipulate and lie to – but another woman, that was not something she had much experience of. She felt disconcerted by Suzanne d'Angou, especially when discussing Athos' sexual prowess. If this woman only knew.

oOo

Treville had been watching the sun in the sky. It had reached its zenith some time ago, but then they had set out much later than he had intentionally planned, what with the King's dawdling and then his argument with the Cardinal over the necessity for him to bring additional Red Guards. The animosity between the two regiments was legendary, and he really did not need a lot of posturing between the two factions on such a delicate assignment. He sighed and held up his hand, signalling for the company to halt. They had reached a quiet spot beside a small river, where trees offered a little shade and privacy, for the day had suddenly become warm considering is was still early in the year. They needed to rest and water the horses, and Treville suspected the occupants of the coaches would like to stretch their legs and make themselves comfortable.

Before he could relay any specific instructions, he noted Aramis and Porthos heading toward the carriages to help the occupants alight; only Athos remained upon his horse, exchanging words with Rienier, a quiet but conscientious Musketeer who could be relied upon to carry his share of the workload with good humour. Treville watched Athos jump down from Roger and take the reins from both horses and lead them toward the water, as Rienier walked over to the second coach to assist the women. Treville frowned, it was not like Athos to ignore a command, but then he saw no particular harm in the change of tasks; still, he noted the event and stored it away.

The horses were watered and rested, and the court party were wandering amongst the trees and spring flowers whilst the Musketeers stood guard, wary of every snapping twig or sound amidst the brush. Clouds had begun to gather on the horizon, and wisps now covered the sun, causing the women to shiver slightly after the warmth of the early afternoon. Concerned by the threat of rain Treville indicated it was time to move on.

Athos was standing at the water's edge with Roger, checking everything was in order, when the horse began to snort and stamp his feet. Instantly on alert, Athos drew his pistol and soothed the agitated animal. He studied the near vicinity, noting most of the men were mounted and taking formation, not that any of the Musketeer horses – or men – would have caused his horse to react as Roger had. Athos strained to hear anything that might have explained the horse's behaviour, and he was about to move into the nearby trees when his plan was halted.

'Athos, remount, we are leaving,' Treville barked across the glade. Athos turned, noting the Captain sitting astride his horse, frowning in the swordsman's direction. Giving a nod of understanding, Athos led Roger away from the water. The horse was still fidgeting, and it was only Athos' hand upon the animal's flank that kept him calm. He hesitated for a moment, but there was no sound other than the stiff breeze in the trees and the tumbling water over the rocky riverbed. Scowling, Athos mounted his horse and cantered to catch up with the disappearing train of carriages and riders.

Moments earlier, as everyone began to make their way back to the coaches, Angeline, one of the Queens ladies-in-waiting, stumbled slightly, turning her ankle. Fortunately, or unfortunately, dependent on who was asked, Aramis was the nearest at hand.

'My lady, are you hurt?' the marksman enquired, as he held her elbow to steady her gait. She appeared unharmed but flushed quite prettily at the Musketeer's attention.

'I… I am not sure, I do not think so. I turned my ankle slightly on a stone.' She gave him a coy smile and allowed him to take her arm as they neared the carriage. He helped her aboard, only to find himself now facing a line of smiling beauties. One by one, he helped each of them into their seats, unable to see Treville rolling his eyes at the turn of events. The last women to reach the coach was the new companion he had noticed at court – the dark-haired beauty with the sinful smile. He gave her a small bow, as she approached and held out her gloved hand.

'Monsieur Aramis, I believe,' she remarked as he prepared to offer his assistance.

'At your service, Madame. May I know your name, as you clearly know mine?' She raised her brow and presented him with a sardonic smile. He thought she would refuse his request, when she appeared to change her mind. She turned away but, as she did so, he heard a low breathy voice say:

'Milady de Winter… Anne.' Smiling to himself, he handed her into the coach but, as she passed close to him, he was engulfed by the powerful aroma of jasmine. Aramis found himself staring into the gloomy interior as she sat and made herself comfortable.

'Thank you, Musketeer, you may close the door now,' came a cold, yet throaty voice. Aramis just had time to note the honey-haired beauty to whom it belonged, before the door closed with a definitive click.

As the heavy scent washed over him, Aramis reeled away from the coach, stunned. Memories and snatches of conversation flashed into his mind, triggered by the strong perfume. Denying having smelt the jasmine at the Châteaux Rambouillet, and a broken Athos haunted by the heady perfume, before finally admitting why the fragrance meant so much to him. Surely this was too much of a coincidence? Aramis had never been known for masking his emotions as effectively as Athos and, suddenly feeling exposed, he frantically searched for the swordsman, praying Athos had not witnessed his reaction. Luckily he was stood amongst the trees holding Roger, only turning around when Treville issued his order to remount.

Still reeling, Aramis pulled himself up onto his horse, beside Porthos. If Milady de Winter really was Athos' mystery woman, then it would explain his behaviour at court, explain his midnight rendezvous, and his avoidance of the women's carriage – a fact that had not gone unnoticed by his two friends. Aramis was worried, he knew there was far more to the story than Athos had so far admitted, but he understood enough to know this woman had caused the man untold misery, and for her to be so close indefinitely, could only cause more heartache.

Athos kept to the rear of the party, constantly scanning the area as they travelled. The roads had now become wider and more substantial, allowing them to make up some of the time lost by their late departure. The sky darkened in the distance and it would not be long before the threatening clouds were upon them; the wind had increased its velocity and the Musketeers' capes now whipped about them as they picked up their speed. The party were nearing Versailles, and Treville was willing the storm to stay away until after the travellers were safely ensconced inside.

Athos felt the first spot of rain and sighed. So be it, though he had to admit riding in a storm was not ideal. However, it did have its advantages. If anyone was planning to attack the train, then during a storm would not be a good idea, for a variety of reasons, and unless the timing of such an assault were crucial, he reasoned that they would wait until the weather was more clement. The men were still on high alert and it was likely that some, particularly the three young and untried Musketeers, would begin to settle into their routine as the journey lengthened, and so may not be quite so attuned to approaching danger. Still, he would not rest yet, Versailles was not more than a few minutes away and they would soon begin the journey toward its approach. It was then the first rumble of thunder growled in the distance – sounding not unlike Porthos' reaction having been dealt a bad hand at cards.

Aramis had been quieter than usual on the second leg of their journey, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by Porthos. He had been mulling over in his mind the events that had occurred since they had reconnected with Athos. He knew there was a woman, a woman whom Athos had thought dead, by his own instruction, no less. That this woman had turned up suddenly in Paris, alive and well, throwing Athos into a further state of turmoil, he suspected had been a very recent event, and though Athos had inferred it had been so, he had not been specific. Then the man had appeared to settle, until he had received the letter in the tavern. From that moment, he had been brooding just under the surface – not a full-blown descent into self-abuse, but a bubbling undercurrent of unease, at the palace, and whilst waiting for their departure from the Louvre. No, Aramis did not believe in coincidences, it was not a good idea for a soldier, not if you wished to stay alive.

jIf Milady de Winter was Athos' mystery woman, it did not bode well at all. Worse still, Aramis had to decide what to do with the information. He would have to tell Porthos, he had noted the way the big Musketeer had eyed him since they had stopped to rest. But should he tell the Captain? Did he have the right? That was another matter entirely.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

They had ridden in almost complete silence for far too long. 'Come on, spit it out,' Porthos growled finally. Aramis did not even bother to try and hide his feelings, Porthos knew him too well. Instead he eyed the big Musketeer with trepidation. 'That bad, eh? Should 'ave guessed. What has 'e done now?' Aramis smiled briefly, before his expression returned to one of thoughtfulness.

'He has done nothing. Unless you count lurking at the very back of the company, avoiding having to help the ladies from their coach, or hiding in the bushes with Roger. Nothing at all.' Porthos looked slightly puzzled.

'Is that what is botherin' you? It all seems pretty normal to me, for Athos anyway. You know 'e's not one for chatter on such occasions, 'e's probably scowling at every tree and bush, just in case it harbours a criminal or would-be assassin.' The very thought reduced the tension and made Aramis chuckle. Athos did have a habit of glaring at his surroundings, as though his very presence was enough to make a brigand reconsider his actions and, to be fair, if they knew what the man was capable of, most probably would. Still he shook his head.

'No, I wish it were just that. I may be seeing ghosts where none exist, and perhaps I am simply being overprotective...' He stopped, unsure exactly what to say next, for he was aware that he was basing all of his concerns upon a mere perfume.

'He does that to all of us. The one man who is capable of looking after himself more than anyone I have ever known, with a sword in his hand, has everyone who cares about him watching his back, to try and save him from himself.' Aramis stared at the big Musketeer in wonderment.

'When did you become such an expert?' he asked, not knowing whether to be amused or worried.

'When I bloody met Athos! The man has you examinin' every move and word 'e says, trying to second guess what stupid thing 'e's going to do next, without tellin' yer. I've told yer before, I'm through carryin' 'is bloodied body back to the infirmary. I'm watchin' 'is every move.' He scowled in earnest, and Aramis almost felt sorry for Athos. If nothing else, it answered the question of whether he was doing the right thing by sharing his concerns with his friend.

'In that case, hear me out and tell me if I am going mad. We think he has told us a lot, though we suspect he has actually told us very little.' He looked to Porthos, who nodded in confirmation, snorting at the remark. 'So we know there was a woman, he loved her and he thought she had been put to death, but then found out she was living and breathing and walking around Paris. The night before we went to the court and he spoke with the King, I waited up.' He paused, waiting for Porthos to explode, and when nothing happened, he dared a glance at the big man.

'Carry on,' Porthos said, his voice cautious and slightly curious.

'He had received a missive in the tavern, before we sat down, you saw.' Porthos nodded, remembering the tense meal in the tavern. 'It was obvious from his reaction it had affected him deeply. Now how many people does Athos know in Paris? Who could have sent him such a note?' Aramis did not wait for Porthos to reply. 'You are right, I watched him like a hawk when we got back to the garrison. He was avoiding me, he knew I would ask him questions, so I stayed awake, and I waited. When I heard the horses stamping and distressed, I ran to see what was amiss, it was midnight and I had waited a long time. Do you know what I found?' Porthos shook his head, though his face was like thunder.

'Bloodied missiles in the horses' stalls, bottle stoppers covered in bloodied linen. Oh, and he hadn't worried that his initial was in the corners.' Aramis looked irked and Porthos shook his head.

'He is a bloody menace.' The irony of the remark was not lost and both men smiled, neither of them seriously angry with Athos.

'I should not have expected anything else, it was brilliant, and I did find him apologising to the horses the next day.' Porthos snorted with laughter at the thought. 'That probably explains the bandage on his hand he is so keen to hide.' Aramis' eyes widened, he had noticed, how could he not have noticed. 'Never mind that now, if he aint dead yet 'e's probably alright.'

Aramis drew a breath and continued. 'He is entitled to his privacy but, as you say, he does tend to put himself in harm's way.'

'If he just told us what 'e was doing and why, we might not treat him like a naughty child,' Porthos growled, scowling into the distance. Aramis agreed, then continued with his explanation.

'Then, when we went to the palace, despite the way he dealt with Richelieu and spoke to the King, he was worried – no, not worried, tense. Something bothered him in that room, he was even more uncomfortable than when the King ordered him to be flogged.' He looked at Porthos and the big Musketeer looked shocked.

'Thinkin' about it, yer right, he was proper fidgety. You can tell when 'e's bothered, he clenches and unclenches his fists.' He eyed Aramis and the marksman laughed.

'So he does, we must look out for it.' Both men chuckled.

'E'd make a terrible card player,' Porthos laughed.

'On the contrary, why do I think he would probably be brilliant?' Aramis smiled. Porthos paused for a moment and shrugged his shoulders.

'Yeah, you're probably right. Anyway, what is it that 'as you so worried?' Aramis sighed.

'Athos did not want to go to help at that carriage this morning. I could tell, he deliberately swapped with Rienier earlier, so he would not have to help the ladies out. He is avoiding that carriage, but why?' Porthos looked worried.

'Before we set off, one of them twisted her ankle and I was the nearest.' Porthos grinned and nodded sagely. Aramis rolled his eyes.' By the time I had her seated comfortably, the rest of her companions had also arrived. There is a new member of the Queen's party – Milady de Winter. When I handed her in, I was overcome by the smell of jasmine…' Porthos' grin faded as he took in the meaning behind Aramis' words.

'What does she look like?' he asked.

Aramis looked slightly puzzled, not sure why it was relevant, 'Dark hair, very beautiful, green eyes like a cat, intelligent.'

Porthos scoffed, 'Well that sounds about right, 'e wouldn't have fallen that deeply for just anyone , now would 'e?' Aramis appeared thoughtful.

'No, I suppose not, but I could also be wrong, though there is more. I have seen her before. When we were in court the other day, I noticed her across the room. Any man would, she is incredibly striking, but it was more than that, she noticed me and smiled.' Porthos laughed.

'And that is unusual because?' Aramis did not join in his friend's humour.

'She made me nervous.' He looked at Porthos in earnest as the smile faded from the big man's face. 'She is dangerous, Porthos. I recognised her, but could not remember where from. Then, when I smelt that perfume today, just like Athos, it took me back to that room in the Château Rambouillet. That is where I had seen her, across the ballroom, in a beautiful red dress. I do not believe in coincidences, Porthos. We have to talk to Athos. Something is very wrong.'

'Should we tell the Captain?' Porthos asked, realising now why Aramis had been so worried. Aramis shook his head.

'We need to speak to Athos, there may be an explanation. Perhaps she knew the family, after all we know nothing about her.' Porthos agreed, but he held Aramis' gaze as he spoke.

'We really know nothing about Athos, we make guesses and he tells us what he wants us to know – I suspect the Captain knows more than he is telling, but we are still in the dark. If she is going to make trouble, then…' Aramis understood. It was time, and he did not look forward to the conversation one little bit.

Daylight was beginning to fade, and the clouds that had begun to gather in the distance were approaching rapidly. Treville rode up to the two men and pulled alongside.

'We are almost upon the drive to the lodge; we may be lucky and empty the carriages before the rain arrives, but I am not so sure. Where is Athos?' In the silence that had followed their discussion concerning Athos, neither man had noticed the deterioration in the weather. The wind had risen, the branches now swayed dramatically to and fro and, though he spoke loudly, the shaking of the leaves was almost enough to drown out Treville's voice. As they listened to their Captain's orders, the first drops of rain struck. Treville rolled his eyes and wheeled his horse round to look for Athos.

Athos had still kept to the back of the company, uneasy ever since they had remounted from watering the horses. He could not help but feel they were being watched. He saw the Captain's horse and nodded his greeting. The rain which had begun with large random spots had now increased. It would not be long before it became a torrent, and already the rumble of thunder could be heard in the background.

'I want you to oversee the men and the coaches. Keep a particular eye on the Guard, I do not trust them. Richelieu has some trickery in mind, no doubt, and I want to know what it is.' Athos gave a curt nod and Treville rode away.

Versailles was a pretty hunting lodge, but though the immediate grounds around the newly completed house were attractive, it was encroached on all sides by dense forest. Treville would have been much happier staying at the nearby royal residence at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, but this was the King's new toy and Louis wanted to show it off.

By the time the coaches had reached the front entrance, the rain had begun to pour in earnest – unloading of both people and baggage was going to be a chore, and it could not have been more daunting to the men who would then have to set up camp for the night.

If any of the Musketeers were surprised when Athos began to issue orders, none of them remarked upon it, though Deveaux, who had kept himself to himself throughout the journey, made it obvious he did not appreciate being kept hanging around in the rain, and Aramis secretly suspected this was part of Athos' payback.

Sometime later, once all of the inhabitants were safely inside, ensconced in their rooms, baggage unloaded and horses safely stabled, Treville was about to leave the Château, when the head of staff called his name.

'Captain Treville, the Queen has asked me give you a message. She says the King wishes some of your men to be inside the lodge throughout the evening and, as the lodge gardens and stables are not as yet fully staffed, she says there is ample room for your men to bed down underneath a roof, without the worry of setting up camp in these awful conditions. Henri will show you the way.' With that, the man turned abruptly and disappeared behind a green baize doorway into the bowels of the lodge, leaving a relieved Treville with the young footman, Henri.

'Captain, if you please, this way.' The young man led Treville out into the foul weather and toward a large wooden structure where the stables were still being given the final touches. 'This large building is where the men have been living and working for the duration of the building work. It is due to be demolished over the next few months, but it will be dry, and warmer than a tent.' The young man grinned. 'Food preparation is underway, and warm soup will be bought out to you within the hour.' He bowed low and scurried away.

Treville passed the welcome news on to the men, who quickly moved their belongings inside the large structure and began to light the abandoned braziers.

'Aramis, Athos, Porthos, over here.' Treville eyed the three men, all of them capable and reliable – his best. However, for the first time he was not wholly sure whether they were the right choice for the job he was about to give them and, even more disconcerting, he could not fathom why he had doubts. He was hoping their reactions might help him to make sense of the alarm bells that were ringing quietly in the back of his mind –maybe then he might know how to act upon his intuition.

'The King has requested a presence inside the lodge, I think he is thinking of Montmorency, killed in the middle of a ball at Rambouillet. You three and Renier are to spend the night inside – take it in turns, and be vigilant; many of these staff are new and do not have the benefit of being tried and tested with the King in residence. I do not like where the lodge is situated – I fear there could be far more than game lurking in those dense forests.

Porthos grinned. 'Perhaps if they spill 'is soup in 'is lap, we can all go 'ome!' Treville smiled.

'I do not think we will be that lucky, and I would not wish that upon a poor footman.' Porthos nodded at the Captain's comment; the King's temper tantrums were indeed legendary, and he too would have felt sorry for the poor fool who marked the King's person. The five men left the warmth of the large barn and hurried through the strengthening storm.

The wind was bending the new saplings over at tortuous angles, and the sound of the rustling forest made it appear all the more violent. Rain poured and bounced back off the ground with the same vigour, and the once distant thunder was now almost overhead. The men had to shout to make each other heard as Treville directed them toward the servants' entrance. It was going to be quite a night, not to mention what state the roads would be in come the morrow.

Once they were out of the storm, the silence in the lodge was deafening. The head of household emerged once again, like a ghost from an almost invisible doorway. Aramis pulled his pistol on the man, and for a second the servant's mask of quiet confidence slipped.

'My apologies, Monsieur, I was not aware there was an entrance in that wall. 'Aramis held up his hands to show he meant the man no harm.

The man raised a brow to cover his lapse and cleared his throat. 'Musketeers, I presume. I am Duval, the King's head of household at Versailles. I have been informed that you are to maintain a presence in the lodge throughout the stay. I presume, as the King's regiment, that is something you are used to. However, most of the staff are new to their posts, and having the King present is making them nervous enough, so I would therefore prevail upon you to try not to shoot any of them in error.' The men smiled, even Athos, and it was the swordsman who addressed the man.

'I am Athos. May I ask if there are many such secreted doorways in the lodge? It may be useful to know if we are to maintain the welfare of your staff.' He gave the man a sardonic smile, and finally received one from Duval himself.

'I see your point, Monsieur Athos. Indeed, the King found the idea amusing when it was first shown to him and most of the rooms have doorways such as this. In the bedrooms they simply lead to dressing rooms, but in the main salons some of them hide passageways for the staff to move about the lodge so that they may go about their daily business without disturbing the guests.' Athos frowned at the news, his brow creased in thought.

'Who would know about such passageways, other than your staff and the King?' Athos did not want to put words into Duval's mouth, but he had a good idea of the reply. The man considered the question before he answered.

'I could not rightly say. The architect, of course, and I suppose if anyone had discussed the plans with the King it would be his First Minister.'

'Thank you, we appreciate your staff's endeavours to be discreet, but I fear we need to avoid use of such entrances for the duration of the King's stay. I will, of course, ensure His Majesty understands why it is necessary.'

Duval bowed. 'I can see the sense in your suggestion, Monsieur Athos. Perhaps you could reassure the King that by the time he visits again the staff will be more experienced and…'

Athos completed the sentence for him. 'More known to you.'

Duval smiled. 'Precisely. You have been allotted a room, gentlemen; I am sorry if it sounds frugal, but the lodge was never really intended for such a gathering as this. I have also been reassured that you will not all need to avail yourself of the room at the same time. Someone will find you and show you the way. All of the guests are currently in their apartments, I will see you have a list, if that will help?'

'That will be most useful, thank you.' Aramis answered this time, as Athos appeared deep in thought and was no longer listening. Duval bowed and exited through the secret doorway, closing it behind him, leaving a wall with very little sign of the opening's existence.

Once the man was gone, Aramis spoke. 'What is wrong?'

Athos looked at the marksman and frowned, and it was Porthos who answered. 'He is pondering what idiot suggested secret doorways to a man whose life is regularly under threat from one source or another.' He eyed Athos, who gave the big man a smile of surprise.

'I had no idea mind-reading was part of your skill set, my friend, but you are correct, I would very much like to know who pointed out such a ridiculous feature. I doubt even the Cardinal would have initiated such a thing, though I do not doubt he would not hesitate in exploiting it.'

For the next hour, they familiarised themselves with the layout of the lodge, grateful for its diminutive stature in comparison to most of the Royal households. Apart from the secret doorways, the lodge was fairly simple in its construction on the ground floor and, as such, it would not be difficult to keep watch. There was only one way down from each floor, that being the main staircase. Only the King, possibly Richelieu and, of course, anyone working for the First Minister, would know of the existence of the false doorways. If Richelieu knew, then Athos had a pretty good idea who else would know.

The party were beginning to gather in the Blue Saloon, ready for dinner. The King and Queen would be last to arrive, and Reinier was stationed outside the apartments to guide them down. Athos, Aramis and Porthos stood guard at the major points along the way. The atmosphere was tense, and the raging storm did not help. Rain slammed against the windows and thunder continued to explode above their heads, flames guttering in the sconces on the wall, as the strong draughts caught hold of them, making them fight to stay alight.

Female laughter broke out upon the main stairway and Athos and Aramis stood to attention. Two women passed between them nodding a greeting and then giggling as they whispered behind their hands. Aramis smiled and bowed low, then shrugged his shoulders at Athos, who simply rolled his eyes. Behind them were four more, and Aramis realised Milady de Winter was one of them and turned his attention to Athos. The man looked directly ahead, his face an unreadable mask. As the women drew closer, one of them, Lady Suzanne, turned her attention to the swordsman and began to walk in his direction, a confident smile upon her face. What happened next was somewhat unclear. Angeline, the lady with the twisted ankle, stumbled once again, managing somehow to step on the back of Suzanne's dress, resulting in the sound of rending fabric. Aramis rushed forward, mainly to prevent the irate Suzanne from doing the timid Angeline bodily harm. Whilst this unfolded, out of the corner of his eye he noted Milady take Athos' arm, albeit somewhat reluctantly on his behalf, and walk away from the chaos, and he strongly suspected she had somehow orchestrated the whole event.

'My my, such a lot of fuss over a ghastly dress, it was not even her colour. But then, what would be?' she purred as they walked toward the door to the salon.

'What do you want?' Athos hissed. She looked up at him, head tilted at a slight angle, lips parted.

'Why husband, what makes you think I want something?' She stroked his arm and, despite the leather between her hand and the flesh of his arm, both of them felt the jolt of electricity.

'Is this your idea of punishment?' Athos murmured, as they paused before the doorway. She smiled once again.

'Well, they do say you can kill with kindness.' She raised a perfect brow in askance.

'I would rather you stabbed me in the back,' Athos replied, his voice arrogant and aloof. She tried hard not to let his demeanour affect her, but inevitably it did.

'Do not think I have ruled that out, either.' She trailed her hand down his arm and over his hand, Athos now wishing he had not removed his gloves, as the touch of her fingers sent a spasm of need coursing through his treacherous body. The smug smile on her face flickered for a moment, before she tossed her head and turned her back, the swish of silk the only sound as she passed through the doorway and out of sight.

Angeline and one other lady passed close behind her, and Athos was left alone in the passageway with Aramis. Reluctantly he turned, hoping to find the marksman oblivious, but the look on Aramis' face sent a bolt of uncertainty through Athos. He knew, of that he was sure.

'We need to talk, mon ami.' Aramis spoke quietly, his face showing no anger or judgement. Athos wanted to refuse, to walk away and hide in the shadows, but he knew Aramis was nothing if not persistent. And then there was Porthos – if the big Musketeer knew, there would be no place for him to hide. The swordsman dipped his head and veered away from the doorway, leaving the laughter and the chatter behind him. It seemed luck was on his side, for at that moment, Reinier and Treville descended the stairs, walking discreetly behind the King and Queen. Aramis and Athos straightened and stepped against the wall as the party passed and, as they drew level, the King paused.

'My head of household has informed me you have instructed my staff not to use the passageways for the duration of my stay, Monsieur Athos.' Aramis' heart stuttered for a moment and his mouth went dry.

Athos looked at the King and, in his most noble manner, replied: 'I was concerned for their safety, Your Highness. With so many armed men on the premises, I foresaw the possibility of an unfortunate incident, not to mention the ability for Your Highness's own safety to be compromised. I apologise if I was too forward, Sire.' Athos bowed low before the monarch, but when he lifted his head the King was smiling.

'Very foresighted of you Athos. Once again, I am glad you are with us.' With that, he moved on and left a stunned Aramis and a slightly bemused Athos in his wake. Treville walked past and winked at Athos, causing the swordsman to give one of his infrequent smiles. Aramis watched and revelled in the moment, realising they were far too rare. Athos looked up and caught Aramis' eye, the smile instantly fading, and the blank defences dropping back into place, as effective as any portcullis.

With the royal party now present, the entire company went into dinner. Once they were finally seated, the Musketeer guard retired to the corridor outside; Rienier and Porthos took the only doorway and Athos and Aramis went to seek refreshment, before they were due to take over at the end of the meal.

'Do not think I do not know why you have paired yourself with me, and be assured that I have nothing to discuss,' Athos drawled, as the pair walked off toward the kitchens.

Aramis eyed the stoic man and said nothing for a several moments. 'I have never attempted to pry into your life, Athos, I have always simply waited and listened when you needed and ear. But I am concerned, and I suspect you know why. I am not a fool, Athos, I have eyes in my head, and I can read the signs when they are so clearly laid out before me. But I would still rather hear it from you without the necessity for questions.' He stopped and made Athos look him in the face. 'I fear this will only get worse before it gets better. I am concerned for you my friend.' He placed a hand on Athos' shoulder and silently beseeched him to disclose what he already suspected to be true.

Athos sighed and dipped his head in surrender. Perhaps it would be for the best to explain to Aramis and Porthos; after all, he had no idea why Richelieu had insisted she join the party, and perhaps three pairs of eyes would be needed after all. Aramis witnessed the battle going on within his friend's head, and recognised the moment when his will had finally surrendered.

'Let us find a drink and somewhere quiet where we can talk.' Athos nodded and the two men walked in silence to the kitchens. Their appearance caused quite a stir in the already manic kitchen, most of the young maids either shrieking in fear, or giggling, and it was left to a rather stern and well-proportioned cook to bring about some order as she glared at the intruders.

Aramis immediately went into charm mode and bowed low before the outraged woman. 'Madame, I do apologise for the intrusion, but we were hoping we could acquire some refreshment, if you could spare a moment.' He gave the woman one of his best smiles, and Athos could not help but smile too, as the woman folded beneath the weight of the marksman's charisma.

'I am not sure if what you have should be bottled or declared unnatural,' Athos whispered to his friend. 'If you were female, you would probably have been burnt at the stake.' Athos gave the woman a smile and bowed his thanks as he gratefully accepted the cup, she offered him.

The two men exited the kitchen and headed back to the main house. When they reached the dining room Porthos indicated all was well, and Aramis nodded toward the now empty blue parlour.

'Shall we?' Athos glared, but walked before him into the quiet room, and Aramis and Porthos exchanged a knowing look as Aramis closed the door behind them. Athos had walked over to the window where, night having now fallen, there was little to be seen beyond the rain cascading down the glass. Thunder still rumbled, though it was now further away, lightning still lit the room every now and again, giving it a slightly unearthly quality. Aramis walked over to stand beside his friend but said nothing.

'How did you know?' Athos asked quietly.

Aramis decided the truth would be the least painful. 'I smelt her perfume.' He held his breath, not knowing if his interpretation of the question had been correct, or whether they were talking at cross-purposes. When Athos sighed and looked into his cup, Aramis' heart sank – he had been right, but he took no pleasure from it.

Athos spoke quietly. 'I should have anticipated such a thing. I am sorry, I underestimated you, my friend.' Aramis shrugged his shoulders.

'There was the letter that had you so upset, not to mention your midnight meeting, which we will say no more of. Then, of course, in the palace only yesterday, you were almost as distressed as those poor horses you tormented. Even I can add up such obvious clues, and that is without her interesting manoeuvre this evening before dinner. What does she want Athos?'

Athos frowned. 'I do not know. Revenge, maybe? My demise?' He shrugged, and his pained confusion struck deep in Aramis' soul.

'Is that all? How did she come to be part of the Queen's retinue?' The marksman looked to Athos for answers, leaving him no choice but to explain.

'She is working for the Cardinal. She is his creature, employed to do his bidding. It was he who arranged for her to accompany the Queen, and even she does not know why, though she fears his interest in our _relationship_ is dangerous.' Athos could not bear to acknowledge the depth of her relationship with the First Minister; call it honour, call it pride, but he could not bear to say the word _mistress_ out loud.

Aramis was appalled, 'Why?'

Athos shook his head. 'I do not know,' he acknowledged quietly.

'There is more, Athos, I have seen her before. She was at the ball in Rambouillet, I noticed her across the room. She is a beautiful woman.'

Athos flinched. 'I smelt her perfume in the room when we found Montmorency.' He looked at Aramis. 'You said you smelt nothing.' There it was, Aramis blushed and hung his head.

'I am sorry, my friend, I did not understand, I thought it was for the best. I was trying to help; I have been trying to find a way to apologise ever since.' He gazed with saddened eyes at the shocked man before him. Athos finally nodded in understanding.

'It is alright, I understand why you said what you did, but you do realise, she may well have been the murderer?' Athos looked at Aramis who frowned in surprise, as if the possibility was the last thing he had considered.

'You believe she could have killed the man, just like that?' Athos paled, and leant his forehead against the cold glass.

'Oh, indeed she could, and it would not be the first time.' He whispered his reply as though he were speaking to the night, rather than the man standing next to him, his breath against the window the only sign his words had been uttered. But still Aramis gasped. He placed his hand upon his friends' back, horrified by the confession, horrified that the woman was amongst them, horrified that they had no way of knowing her agenda. Richelieu may have bought her to carry out some weird and perverse plan, but Aramis had no doubt that the woman was also hatching a plan of her own.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It was no weather to be standing around amidst the dense forest, as even the thick overhead canopy provided no shelter from the torrential rain. Thunder rolled overhead and the way the lightning lit up the trees would have made the most hardened man shudder. _This_ man was beginning to see shadows and enemies where none existed, and it was making him extremely jumpy; only his obsessive need for revenge kept him from running for the nearest tavern to enjoy a roaring fire and a cup of ale. That he had found another to share his fanatical hatred had been a boon he had not expected. It had been pure luck, or perhaps fate, that he had been recruited for this job. If there was more to it, then that was information he was not comfortable knowing; he was not interested in plots of state, just seeking his own form of justice. Two men sharing the same ideal could not be wrong; it fed his fixation. No matter how disagreeable, he would see it through to the end – this time one of them would die.

oOo

Athos and Aramis stood in the parlour watching the lightning flash illuminate the tree line in the distance. Athos was still not happy. He could feel the threat in the distance – even though he had seen no sign of it, it was there, he just did not know what form it would take.

Aramis had been pacing up and down the room, trying to take in what Athos had just told him. 'What do you want to do?' he finally asked. He could see no choice himself, but he needed it to be Athos' decision.

'You think I should tell Treville?' Athos replied, his voice low and measured. The swordsman lifted his head and watched Aramis, as he struggled to voice his opinion.

'It has to be your decision, though I cannot help but feel the Captain should be made aware of the situation. After all, this may be bigger than just you and her. We do not know why the Cardinal wanted to have her near.' He noticed how Athos flinched at the notion, and hoped it did not infer what he thought it did. That would be an insult too far for the man. He waited patiently as Athos stared out of the window, once more debating his next move.

'You are right, there are greater things at stake than my pride. I will tell him what he needs to know.' Athos' choice of words was telling, and Aramis could not help but wonder how much he still kept to himself, slowly eating away at his soul, minute by minute, day by day.

oOo

Milady had managed to smile sweetly had it proved necessary, but kept herself slightly removed whenever it was an option. She had never enjoyed the company of other women, taking very little interest in the latest fashion or gossip, unless, of course, it provided her with ammunition she could use to her advantage. But then men could be as frivolous, and just as boring. Inevitably, that led her thought process back to the man she knew was somewhere within the building; she felt his presence deep inside, even though his exact location was unknown to her, and she knew if she tried, she would find him, just like a swallow returning to the same nest. Angry with herself, she jabbed a pin into her hair, making her cry out as it pressed painfully into her flesh. Why did it always come back to him? Why must he always be the exception? Yet he always had been. Still, in the end he had betrayed her, allowing his male pride to dictate his decisions – she was a mere woman, it had to be her who was the liar and a traitor. Once she had allowed herself to wallow on her plight for a while, she felt her equilibrium begin to settle and her revenge overcome any higher feeling she might have for Athos.

Alone here in her room, she wondered if he was alone too. Should she seek him out? Her feline smile lit up her features as she played with a stray curl. Like a cat hunting a mouse, she knew just how to cause him the greatest pain, and it did not involve shedding any blood. If she died a little each time as well, she refused to acknowledge it.

oOo

Treville was tired. He had hoped once they were on their way some of his anxiety would lessen, but that had not been the case. He was uncomfortable in the lodge, it had been constructed merely to host the King's hunting expeditions, not the large retinue he had bought with him now, and ladies had never been part of the plan. The encroaching forest made him nervous. An entire army could hide out in those menacing trees, and they would have no warning until the last moment, trapped in a building never meant to be used for defensive purposes.

He threw his coat over the back of his chair, and poured himself a brandy from the bottle beside the bed. The rain still hammered against the windows, and the storm appeared to be heading back toward them yet again. For once he was glad, as no sane person would mount an attack under such conditions unless they had no choice and, on this journey, he feared there would be ample options to harm the royal party; there was no need to take unnecessary risks. But that did not eliminate the possibility of a threat from within; there was still something niggling at the back of his mind, and it was driving him mad.

When there came a firm but non-urgent knock upon the door, he frowned. Surely there could not be trouble already? Picking up his pistol, he opened the door just a fraction, and seeing Athos standing there his concern increased, until he took in the swordsman's expression. He was beginning to recognise that look and it never failed to make his stomach flip.

'Athos, what is wrong, can it not wait until morning?' He saw the man hesitate, as if trying to make up his mind. Treville knew that whatever it was, Athos probably wanted to put it off forever, and if he did not hear it now, there was a possibility he never would.

'Come in,' he said, 'take a seat.' Resigned to whatever troubled the young man, he poured Athos a drink, indicating once more that he should sit down. As usual, Athos hovered, uncomfortable relaxing in the Captain's company. 'Sit down, son, I am too tired to watch you hover.' Athos nodded and took a seat by the fire. He did not speak straight away, and Treville knew he was struggling to find a place to start.

'Why don't you just spit it out, I can tell it is not good.' Treville spoke kindly, in the hope it would encourage Athos to reveal whatever it was that was causing him such a dilemma.

Athos was indeed struggling. Unlike Aramis and Porthos, Treville was in possession of far more information regarding his past and position, and just how much more he needed to reveal he was not sure. He worried that if he allowed it to spill out bit by miserable bit, Treville would begin to doubt the swordsman's integrity. But no, perhaps it was time for the Captain to know the truth.

Athos locked eyes with the man he respected more than any other, and took a deep breath.

'The Queen has a new companion at court, Milady de Winter.' He took a drink from the brandy glass as Treville commented: 'Dark hair, eyes like a cat. Yes, I have noted her.' Athos listened to the Captain's description – like a cat, oh yes, indeed she was.

'That is the one.' _Now for it_, thought Athos. 'She is my wife, ex-mistress of the Cardinal and now one of his spies.' With it all said, he drained his glass and stared into the fire, not able to look at Treville, not wishing to see his expression: loathing, contempt, especially pity.

Had he, in fact, been observing the Captain, he would have seen nothing but shock, followed by dawning realisation, that this was what had been bothering him from the beginning. The Cardinal's unusual interest in Athos now made so much more sense. When he eventually spoke, his voice was quiet. He knew the revelation had cost Athos dear, and how to approach him now, he was not sure; this was all new to him. He watched the young man, and tried to imagine how he would have reacted if Athos had indeed been his son. What advice he would have offered? What could he possibly say to the man to make him understand this was not his fault? For he had no doubt that was precisely what Athos was thinking.

'Athos, this is the woman you discussed with Aramis?' Athos nodded, still not looking at Treville.

'I have to ask this Athos, I am sorry. Was it she who killed your brother?' Athos was shocked out of his reverie by the unexpected question. Brutal and honest, simply what he should have expected from the Musketeer Captain – a soldier.

'Yes,' was all he managed to whisper. Treville wiped his hand over his eyes – _just when he had thought things could not get any worse. _

'Is that why the Cardinal shows so much interest in you? Does he know?' Athos shook his head, finally finding the courage to look the Captain in the eye. He was relieved when all he saw was a man wrestling with a problem.

'She says he does not. She would have nothing to gain and everything to lose by admitting to her past.'

'I would have been happier to know that he did, at least that would explain his curiosity. Why is she here?' the Captain asked, dreading to think what games the Cardinal was up to.

'Though she says he knows nothing for sure, she is inclined to think he suspects there is some connection between us, but why that should interest him I cannot say. He has not revealed why he wants her with him.' Treville listened without interruption then simply rolled his eyes.

'There is more.' Athos admitted, and this time he did not look away. Treville stared in wonderment. What else could there be left to reveal?

'I believe she may have been the one who murdered Montmorency. Why I do not know, but Aramis confirmed he saw her at the ball the night he was stabbed. I smelt her perfume, I thought… I thought it was my imagination. I thought my wife was dead.' He admitted the last truth in a broken whisper, and Treville struggled to hear what Athos had uttered, suspecting he had said it more to himself than anyone else.

'Right, well the first thing we do is keep you as far away from her as possible. It is late and you may as well finish your duty here. Make sure you are never alone and as soon as it is daylight, re-join the men and send Harvé to take your place.' He hesitated before continuing. 'I am sorry, son, I know this cannot be easy, but you need to watch your back; you appear to have enemies coming at you from every angle. I know Aramis and Porthos will not leave your side, but we have a King to guard, and he has to be our priority.' Athos straightened as he stood and placed his empty glass upon the mantle.

'That goes without saying, Captain. I am well aware of my situation, but I thank you for your tolerance, though I must ask that what I have disclosed stays between us, Aramis and Porthos know only what they need to.' He made to leave, but Treville called him back.

'Athos, you do understand none of this is your fault? You did only what your rank and honour demanded.' Athos stared at the Captain, his face emotionless.

'It is _all_ my fault,_ I_ made her.' With that, he left the room in two strides, quietly closing the door behind him.

Athos leant against the wall and took a deep breath. All things considered, he had managed far better than he had expected. It felt good for someone to know, for someone to understand the depth of her treachery. He suspected that Porthos was also aware of milady's presence by now, and he was grateful not to have to repeat the explanation. As he turned to leave the wing and find Aramis and Porthos, his heart hammered in his chest – standing at the end of the corridor was a figure, a woman. _God, could she not leave him alone_? He gritted his teeth and strode toward her, already decided upon his course of action. He would not let her get to him this time.

As the woman drew closer, he realised something was wrong; though the candlelight made her image shimmer and shift with the shadows, he knew instinctively it was not her. This woman had lighter hair, she was not so tall and was skinnier. As her face came into focus, he identified her as the honey blonde from the coach. He sighed with relief, ignoring the small stab of disappointment.

'Monsieur Athos, I am afraid I have lost my way. I was attempting to find the library so that I might find a book, as the storm is preventing me from sleeping. Do you know where it is?' Athos was so relieved it had not been her, he even managed to be charming.

'I believe I do, my Lady.' He was about to offer her his arm, when a violent clap of thunder broke overhead, the very floor beneath them shaking from the impact.

'Agh,' the woman cried throwing herself into the swordsman's arms. 'Oh, I am so sorry, Monsieur, what must you think of me? I am afraid that took me quite by surprise. Perhaps you would simply escort me back to my room.' The fact that she had not actually made any attempt to free herself from Athos' embrace was rather telling, but he nodded politely and took a step backward. Offering her his arm, she took it with a smile.

'I should not have allowed myself to sleep in the carriage this afternoon, I find I am now wide awake. Are you on duty, Monsieur?' Athos might not have been as accommodating as Aramis, or even Porthos, but he was no fool and understood her meaning quite clearly.

'I am, Madame, I am just about to relieve the Musketeers on the main door.' She pouted very prettily.

'Well it will be a very long trip, and I often find sleep alludes me, so perhaps you will be kind enough to show me to the library on another occasion?' They had now reached the corridor where her room was situated, and Athos delivered her to the door.

'I believe this is your room, Madame. I hope you manage to sleep well, we are travelling again tomorrow, and it is possible the roads will make it hard going. Goodnight.' He waited for her to close the door, which she did with a prolonged sigh and a swish of her skirts. He would have smiled at her antics, but right now he had more important things on his mind. As he walked away and retraced his steps, someone was watching, someone who was angry – furious in fact. He was _her _husband, and though she may no longer have him, she would be damned if anyone else would either.

Athos turned abruptly as he heard a door slam behind him, but with nobody in sight, he put the sound down to the draught from the storm.

Suzanne looked at herself in the mirror upon the dresser and pouted. She was a beautiful woman, she knew that, it was not vanity upon her part, merely a fact. She was not used to being spurned, however, and it made her all the more determined. There was something about the man that provided her with a challenge. He was handsome, but then so were many of the King's Musketeers; no, he had something different. He had a darkness, a ruthlessness, he was dangerous, and she found him exciting. The fact she may not be the only woman who thought so among their party, gave the whole situation an added dimension.

Athos hoped he would find Aramis and Porthos without any more women suddenly appearing in dark corridors. He imagined Aramis' face should he recant his discussion with the fair Suzanne – he had seen her name on the list the head of household had provided. He heard a bellowing chuckle coming from the foot of the stairs and smiled with relief, never had he been so pleased to see the two men as he was right at this moment.

When the two Musketeers noted who approached, they both ceased their chatter and waited, neither sure of the swordsman's mood. Athos gave them a wry smile. After all, they knew now and the worst was behind him; Treville had taken it well, and the reality was he actually felt a little lighter.

'What mischief have you two been getting up to whilst I was gone?' he asked, leaning upon the banister, arms folded, giving the two men an appraising look. Aramis broke into a broad grin and slapped him on the back, as relief flooded through him. Porthos guffawed, but then placed a hand upon his shoulder.

'We won't let 'er near you.'

Athos rolled his eyes. 'I suppose you will not let me be for the next few hours will you?' he replied, though the twitch of his lips told them he was grateful for their support.

'Try the next few months,' Aramis laughed, wiping all evidence of the smile from Athos' face as the reality of his situation finally hit home. Porthos chuckled, then a sudden clap of thunder shook the elaborate chandelier that hung above them in the hallway.

'Not sure this is good place to stand,' mumbled the big Musketeer, eyeing the swaying crystal with suspicion. Contented as they could be, the three men moved off to make a circuit of the lodge and check all was as it should be.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Athos and Aramis had finally taken their rest and left Porthos and Renier to attend to guarding the lodge.

The morning dawned bright and clear, though the damage done by the storm would not easily be righted by a sunny morning. There were likely to be flooded roads, downed trees and even rivers that had burst their banks. Treville emerged into the hallway and eyed the four men standing awaiting their orders. He noted the presence of Hervé, and guessed Athos had vacated the lodge and re-joined the rest of the regiment.

'Begin to prepare for our departure. Aramis, find Athos and ride out to check the state of the roads. Hervé, you are responsible for keeping an eye on the ladies' coach. Make sure they keep out of the way, we do not need any delays today.' Aramis and Porthos grinned at each other, Treville had chosen well. Hervé was a good man but he could never be described as attractive; nearing forty, he was one of the oldest Musketeers, but he kept himself to himself and worked hard.

The royal party sat down to breakfast. Milady, finding herself seated opposite Lady Suzanne, smiled sweetly across the table, whilst toying with the idea of tipping her drink over the woman's dress. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that the extra delay would not be appreciated, and she would probably get the blame. Instead, she offered her the butter and considered her options.

'It was a terrible storm last night, I hardly slept at all,' Angeline gushed at nobody in particular. Suzanne smiled at Milady. 'Indeed it was, I found myself lost in the corridors, trying to find the library. Luckily, I ran into Athos and he kindly took me back to my room.' The inference was clear and the other ladies stared at her wide-eyed. Milady shot her a look almost as icy as one of her husband's, but managed to maintain a thin smile.

'Really? I would have thought he had more important things to do, like guarding the King.' Suzanne fluttered prettily.

'Ooh, do not misunderstand me, he simply showed me to my room, he was very… understanding.' She gave Milady an innocent smile, but the other ladies giggled behind their hands. Milady was appraising the sharpness of the butter knife when one of the other ladies cut in.

'I think he is rather frightening. Nothing like Aramis, _he_ is charming – such a lovely smile.' Suzanne made a great show of considering the remark.

'Really? I think there is something rather alluring about Athos, like a complex puzzle you have to solve, or a particularly difficult parcel you cannot wait to unwrap.' She deliberately eyed Milady, making a show of raising her brow, as the furious woman snapped the small bone comb she had been toying with whilst the others were assessing her husband.

'Presents can be disappointing, and some puzzles are impossible to solve,' Milady managed to force out through gritted teeth, not even noting the small trickle of blood that ran from the cut on her hand.

'Oh dear, you appear to be bleeding, my dear. You obviously do not know your own strength,' Suzanne trilled, cold eyes staring at the woman opposite. The King and Queen chose that moment to rise and the entire table rose with them. The Cardinal had been watching the two women, and though he could not hear what they had discussed their body language made their opinion of each other patently obvious. Interesting, he would have to find out more about the Lady Suzanne d'Angou.

Milady stalked out of the Château and headed toward the coach. She was still livid with Suzanne's arrogance, but she would bide her time and deal with the woman when the appropriate moment arose; she wondered if she could get away with killing her, but perhaps that would be a little dramatic. Still, there were many nasty accidents that could befall a woman in such unknown terrain. She fondled the knife secreted beneath her skirts and smiled, some of the anger being replaced by the thrill of future possibilities.

Athos and Aramis rode away from the lodge ever vigilant. The dark woods shone with the water hanging heavy upon their bows, and every now and then drops would fall upon the two riders as they passed beneath the laden leaves.

'If water runs down my neck one more time…' Aramis moaned, wiping the rain away.

'What will you do, shoot the offending branch?' Athos quipped, his voice thick with sarcasm. Aramis began to laugh.

'I will bear the suggestion in mind! So, do you think we will be able to travel?' He eyed the state of the road they were upon, and though nobody had ridden along it since they themselves had arrived at Versailles, the mud was thick, making it heavy going for the horses. The sun shone, but in the distance the sky was laden with more clouds.

'I am not particularly hopeful,' was Athos' only reply. Aramis scowled.

'I do not like the idea of being trapped here for any longer than necessary, there is something about this forest that disturbs me.' He eyed the trees around him as though they might suddenly tear their roots from the ground and attack. 'What is that noise?' A rushing sound began to filter through the trees and became louder the further down the path they rode.

'I fear we may be about to get an unpleasant surprise,' Athos informed the curious Musketeer.

As they rounded the bend in the road, both men pulled their horses up sharply. 'Whoa,' Aramis soothed his startled mount. In front of them the river had burst its banks and a torrent of water raged across the road ahead, logs and other debris tossed mercilessly by the swift current, as if they were nothing but twigs. The noise the water made was terrifying.

'You have come across this before?' Aramis posed the question as Athos did not appear in the least surprised.

'Once, back home. Many years ago,' Athos murmured.

'How long will it last?' the Musketeer asked, his brow furrowed at the now inevitable delay.

Athos looked at the frustrated man and thought for a moment, then turned his attention to the distant sky. 'If the weather had stayed warm, then it could have slowed within as little as a day, maybe two. But if those clouds bring more rain, then it may even worsen. It is possible for a river to flood for many leagues. We are lucky Versailles is situated upon a hill.' Aramis appeared horrified, and turned to examine the ever-nearing clouds as though they were an approaching army. A sudden noise in the trees had both men on the alert, but they were too late, as two men rushed from the dark tree line and made a grab at both horses.

Athos kicked out at the man who tried to pull him from his saddle, but Aramis was not so lucky. His horse, already skittish, reared, and between the slippery floor and the man grabbing at his boot Aramis could not keep his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Athos saw him fall, and jumped from Roger to stand over the fallen Musketeer until he could regain his footing. Both men held pistols and when one exploded, Athos froze, waiting for the impact, but nothing happened. Hoping the bullet had not found another target, he wasted no time and lunged at the man with his sword. Aramis had managed to stagger to his feet though, now coated with mud, he found movement somewhat difficult. Athos was attempting to keep both men busy, though he, too, was finding it problematic staying on his feet as his boots slid in the thick mud – luckily his opponents were having the same problem. The man who had attacked Aramis was trying to pass Athos, but the swordsman was managing to engage both men sufficiently to make that impossible.

'Thank you, mon ami, but I think this one is mine,' Aramis shouted, as he brandished his sword at the man who had tried so hard to finish what he had started.

'About time,' Athos quipped, now giving his own opponent the full force of his attention. As it turned out, neither of the ruffians proved to be a real threat, and the fight was soon over.

Just a short time later, both of them were lying in the mud, one with Athos' sword through his heart and the other bleeding badly, as Aramis held a blade to his throat. Athos sauntered up to the wheezing man, sheathed his sword, then squatted down next to him. In his most superior voice, he addressed the injured bandit.

'Tell us who sent you and we will make it quick.' He stared at the dying man with a face that showed little sign of mercy. The man began to cackle, though the effort made him cough as blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth. His lung was pierced, and he would not last long, but it would be long enough to hurt.

'I will ask you again, but know this, we are not acknowledged for our patience, and you have ruined my friend's uniform. Answer my question and I will ease your passing. Refuse and I will hand you over to him.' Athos nodded toward Aramis, without taking his eyes from the nervous man. Aramis held a pistol in one hand and his dagger in the other, making a pretence of deciding which one to use on the uncooperative victim.

Deciding he had little choice, the man began to talk, though Athos had to lean in close to hear what he was saying.

'You don't stand a chance, there's more coming.' He began to cough, blood now coming thick and red as it bubbled and slid down his chin. Athos looked at Aramis.

'How many?' Aramis asked, giving the man a kick.

'Enough… enough to take 'im out,' the man managed before a coughing spasm took him. Then he lay still, his eyes staring but seeing nothing.

'The King!' Aramis shouted. Athos searched the man's pockets but found nothing that would help, whilst Aramis did the same with the other corpse. Satisfied there was nothing more to be garnered, they re-mounted their horses and made a hasty return. By the time they arrived back at the lodge, many of the guests were already seated in their coach; only the King, Queen and Richelieu remained inside in comfort.

Porthos and Treville took one look at Aramis and Treville was instantly alert. Porthos, though concerned, was trying hard not to laugh.

What happened to you two? barked the Captain.

'The river has burst its banks, the road is unpassable, and we were attacked,' Athos replied, succinct as ever.

Aramis looked at Athos and raised a brow. 'How, do you manage to make it sound so mundane?'

'It is a gift,' Athos retorted, though his attention was on the Captain.

'When the two of you have finished the theatrics, perhaps someone will tell me what happened,' Treville growled, not in the mood for the men's banter.

'Two men, hiding in the trees, not particularly skilled. One dead one injured, he told us there were more, enough to kill the King.' Athos embellished his earlier statement – just a little.

'Lord.' Treville rolled his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. 'So we are trapped?' The two men remained silent, assuming that the question was a rhetorical one.

'It is possible for two men to ride back to Paris and bring reinforcements,' Athos suggested.

Treville frowned as he considered the suggestion. 'It would leave us vulnerable,' he replied.

Athos shrugged his shoulders, 'Send two of the Red Guard, we can manage.' His statement was indicative of his opinion of the Red Guards' potential in a crisis, and the remark almost brought a smile to Treville's lips.

'Perhaps. I will have to inform the King. You had best advise the men to be on the alert. Aramis, Porthos, unload the coaches. Athos, supervise the men and allot them posts, they are to remain watchful.

Aramis began to explain to the waiting guests that the journey was cancelled. Athos heard the loud complaints from the courtiers, but as he gave the party a last glance, he saw only her. She watched him intently, a strange expression upon her face. As he turned and strode away, his heart racing, he was not sure if it had been a look of fear, or excitement.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Athos had not walked far, when he heard the Captain bellowing his name. Turning abruptly, he saw Treville beckoning him back toward the lodge. He retraced his steps, puzzled by the sudden recall.

'Captain?' Adrenalin still coursed through his body as it always did after a fight, particularly when it was a fight to the death.

'Come with me, the King may have questions, but do not say anything unless you have to,' Treville growled. 'I would have taken Aramis, but…' The prospect of Aramis appearing before the King in his current state, elicited a grin Athos could not contain. Despite the threatening clouds, the air was warm, and the thick mud had begun to dry all over the soaked Musketeer, chalklike matter encrusted in his hair and beard, giving him the appearance of a much older man.

'I think it makes him look distinguished,' Porthos noted, keeping his face devoid of all humour. Athos snorted as he followed after the Captain, whilst Aramis simply rolled his eyes, before making for his room to change.

The King and Queen were waiting in the King's private apartments. As Treville and Athos entered, it was clear Louis had been pacing up and down, an action he stopped as soon as he saw the Captain.

'Ah, Treville, what is the matter, why have the coaches been emptied?' Louis would have drummed his fingers upon the arm of his chair had he been seated but, as it was, he simply glared at the man responsible for his ire.

Treville took a deep breath. 'I sent two men out to establish whether the roads were passable. They returned to inform me that the river has burst its banks and the road is now immersed under a torrent of water. We have no choice but to wait for the water to recede.' Louis stamped his foot.

'This is most tiresome, Treville. I had not anticipated having to stay here for more than one night.' As always, Richelieu hovered near, but it appeared even he felt for the Captain's plight.

'I am sure the Captain is only thinking of the safety of the party, Your Highness; swollen rivers can be extremely dangerous. One more night will see everyone refreshed and ready to travel on the morrow, will it not, Captain?' Treville was grateful for the Cardinal's support, though the look he gave the First Minister plainly showed his caution at receiving such unanticipated backing.

'I am afraid there is more, Sire. My men were ambushed by two men as they were appraising the state of the road. Both were killed, but we have reason to believe they were not alone, and that you are their intended target.' Treville let his words sink in.

The Queen placed her hand upon her husband's arm before speaking calmly. 'Then perhaps it is a good thing that we were not able to travel today. I am sure Captain Treville will do everything he can to find out who is responsible.' Louis no longer bore the expression of a petulant child, but had grown serious. He looked from Treville to Athos, whom he appeared to notice for the first time. He took in the swordsman's dishevelled state and realised it was likely he had been one of the men Treville had sent on the expedition.

'Monsieur Athos, from the quantities of mud upon your person, I deduce you were one of the men involved?' Athos bowed before the monarch.

'Indeed, Sire.' He added nothing else, hoping the King would ask no further questions.

'The other Musketeer, he was not hurt I hope?' Louis asked, noting that only one man was present. Treville would have stepped in to answer the question, but it had clearly been addressed to Athos.

'No, Sire, Aramis is unhurt, but the path was rather muddy and he was unseated from his horse when the attack was launched.' Louis said nothing but he was clearly considering what he had heard.

'What type of men were they – brigands, soldiers?' Athos did not hesitate.

'They were not trained soldiers, Sire. They were not accomplished with a sword and, despite the proximity of myself and Aramis, when they fired, they missed completely. I suspect they were hired help, nothing more. I believe we came across them unexpectedly, as the ambush was clumsy and not thought through.' Most of this was as much news to Treville as it was to the King.

'And you believe they were part of a much larger party; whose purpose was to kill me?' Athos hesitated, he was not entirely sure he did, as he had no proof, but if convincing Louis that he believed so meant the King would not complain about staying an extra night, then he would go along with the supposition.

'They were clearly not alone, intimating they were part of a larger party, and they _were_ intent on murder.' He had mentioned no names, and hoped the King would now transfer his attention to the Captain. He could feel the Cardinal's stare burning into his back, so intense was his interest.

'Very well, Treville, it would seem we have little choice. Do what you think is necessary but keep us informed.' With that, he turned away from the Musketeer Captain and back to his wife, making it clear the audience was over. Nonetheless, Treville and Athos still bowed before turning to leave the room, but they had not gone far when they heard Richelieu call after them to wait.

'Is there something you are not telling me, Treville? You have that shifty look upon your face.' Richelieu peered intently at the Captain, as if he could read his mind.

'You are a fine one to talk, though I appreciated your support. What is it you want? I have much to do.' Not in the least intimidated by the man, Treville held the First Minister's stare.

'Do you have any idea who it is planning this attack?' the Cardinal demanded. The Captain shook his head, frowning as he admitted he did not.

'They had nothing about their persons to give us any clue. The fact that they were not trained or following a co-ordinated plan suggests, as Athos said, they are not soldiers. Still, that does not mean someone more skilled is not behind the force; wherever they are.' Richelieu narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if Treville was telling all he knew.

Appearing satisfied, he took a step backward. 'Keep me informed.' Without another word, he left the men standing in the corridor and stalked back toward the King's rooms, gowns billowing in his wake.

Athos and Treville exchanged glances. 'Do you believe he knows nothing?' Athos asked his superior.

'For once, yes. He believed _I_ was holding out on _him_. He did not have the look of a man with a plan afoot – I know _that_ look, he would appear far smugger. No, I do not think he was behind this.' Treville paused and stopped in the middle of the corridor, holding Athos in his steely gaze. 'You did not give me the extra details – what _exactly_ did they say?' Athos stood straight and his face became the blank mask Treville was becoming familiar with; it was the one that made his stomach drop and his mouth dry, and it rarely preceded good news.

'The one never spoke at all, and the other only briefly.' He halted, hoping the Captain would not pursue this line of questioning, though he was sure that he would.

'And exactly what was that brief comment, Athos? I know you are holding out on me, so do not think that superior expression will put me off.' His brittle comment had the desired effect, and Athos let out a long sigh.

The swordsman shook his head and frowned. 'He did not tell us anything useful, just that there were more of them, enough to do the job.' Treville appeared puzzled.

'And that is what has you worried?' The sarcasm in his voice was clear. Athos rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he was not even sure what it was that bothered him about the dying man's comment, just that something did.

'His actual words were _enough to take him out_. I cannot say why that bothers me, but for some reason, I cannot help but think the King was not their prey.' Treville ran his hands through his hair.

'Who else would they want, the Cardinal?' He processed the information, but it did not really make sense. 'For now, we will take the usual precautions. We will hold off sending men to Paris in case there is an attack. We will assume that either the King or his First Minister are the target, and work on that premise. Say nothing to the men.' Athos nodded, realising he was being dismissed. He left the Captain standing in the corridor, thoughtful as he ran scenarios through his head.

Aramis and Porthos had gone to catch up on some rest, having been on duty throughout the night. Athos had organised a rota for the rest of the men, apart from the Red Guard, who had been less than helpful.

'You ain't even a Musketeer, so don't try tellin' us what to do,' Renard, the highest ranking Guard in the party sneered, as he observed Athos directing the men. 'Don't even know why you lot listen to him anyway.' Athos ignored the comment, not in the slightest bit interested in what the man had to say.

One of the Musketeers who overheard the derisive comment turned and got up close to the surprised soldier. 'Probably because, unlike you, he talks a lot of sense.' With that, he stepped back and carried on his way, leaving the disgruntled guard with his brow furrowed in anger.

Once all the men were in position – sparring or looking after horses and weapons – Athos decided he would take a look around the outside of the lodge. He had not yet had the opportunity and, though he, too, should be dead to the world, he knew sleep would not come – and if it did, he knew it would provide no peace. He was a man who could operate on little rest, and after the earlier skirmish, just like the Captain, his mind was racing over scenarios and possibilities.

He eyed the distant sky and could see the dark clouds approaching slowly. The wind was brisk, and above the heavy grey sky boiled with anger, all signs of the sunshine obliterated. The noise from the trees was all that he could hear; any signs of approaching horses, or even men, would be masked by the wind-bent branches. Between the tortured boughs, the forest beckoned dark and foreboding, and whatever lurked within it had them at a distinct disadvantage, though not to such an extent now that they had been forewarned. Athos shivered to think what might have happened if unknown foe had attacked the unprepared Musketeers in their sleep; it may even have resulted in another Savoy – or worse.

He turned the corner and began to traverse the rear of the lodge; more gardens stretched out for some distance, but nothing so grand as the Palace – this, after all, was a building where men could meet and hunt, the grounds there simply to show the King's affluence. But at least they kept the edge of the forest at bay, and anyone heading for the lodge would easily be seen by the now watchful Musketeers before they had chance to reach the main building.

As Athos watched the tree line and mulled over the morning's activities, his boots suddenly trod upon something that ground beneath his boot. The sound attracted his attention; it was not the familiar crunching of gravel, but a sound that set his teeth on edge. Bending down, Athos ran his fingers over small shards of glass and, instantly alert, he began to check the ground floor windows. Judging by the less glamorous design and darkened interiors beyond, he judged the rooms to be storage or part of the servants' domain. As he walked a little further, he happened to glance upward and, sure enough, one of the panes of glass in the window was broken. Now it could have been coincidence but running a short distance from the ground was a series of buttresses that projected from the wall, just enough to provide a sound foothold for someone wishing to climb to that very spot.

oOo

Milady was sitting amongst the other women, whilst the Queen played chess with Angeline – the chattering females, watching and offering noises of encouragement to both parties, when appropriate.

She wandered over to the window just as Athos walked away from the large barn, heading toward the corner of the lodge. She watched as he strode across the open ground, his usual swagger recognisable even from her lofty position. She realised she was smiling and instantly began to frown. Still she did not turn away, but continued to observe his progress, until the man had disappeared from sight. She ignored the sudden urge to be excused and follow him, as something told her he would not welcome the intrusion.

'He is a man who begs attention, is he not?' came a woman's voice from over her shoulder. Milady did not need to turn to know who had addressed her. Remaining where she stood, she schooled her features into a mask of boredom and phrased her answer.

'I doubt he is remotely aware of being observed, nor does he wish it,' she replied, keeping her voice low and steady, though every nerve in her body willed her to slit the bitch's throat.

'No, that is what makes him so attractive, his total lack of self-awareness. Such a challenge, do you not think?' She almost whispered the words, and Milady wondered how she had managed to get so close without her noting the woman's approach. Had she been so absorbed watching him?

'He is undoubtedly handsome, but I find him too cold,' Milady replied, this time turning to look Suzanne in the eye, both women being of a similar height.

'Oh, I think that aloof exterior hides a passionate nature. No one can always be that controlled, he has to give in to his emotions some time. Quite a tempting prospect, but perhaps you prefer a demurer and less demanding bed mate?' With that, Suzanne turned her back on her competition, leaving her fuming, Milady clenching her fists at the woman's fading laughter. Her anger began to simmer and she raised a brow, finally allowing a small smile to form upon her lips. The woman had no idea, and Milady was pretty sure she never would – though she had been completely accurate in her assumption concerning Athos.

The Queen announced she was weary. The air had become stuffy and there was no air in the room; a storm was definitely approaching once again. The women were left to their own devices, some taking up their sewing or playing games, whilst others left for the quiet of their own apartments. Milady was just debating what to do with her time, when a small boy appeared in the doorway and beckoned her over. Checking to ensure nobody was observing her, she walked slowly to the door, where the boy held out a small note sealed with wax. Noting the Cardinal's mark, she thanked the boy and tucked it into her skirts.

Only two women now remained in the room, and they were enjoying a quiet game of chess. Milady slipped from the apartment, quickly making her way to the room she was very glad she had not been forced to share. She tore open the missive, it which was worded in the usual abrupt manner – _Library at your earliest convenience. R. _Her pulse quickened. Was she about to discover whatever plot or intrigue the man had in mind? It had plagued her ever since he had requested her presence. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she left the room, having carefully disposed of the note in the fire.

oOo

Angeline had a headache. She was young, having only joined the Queen's retinue some months previously, when one of the royal ladies had left to marry. Her father had found her the position and hoped that she, too, would make a good connection – one that would help increase the family's status and coffers. She opened her door, glad that Rachael, her roommate, had opted to remain and play chess, as it would give her some time on her own to lie down and rest. Having little time to themselves, she missed the solitude of her home in the country.

A noise in the corner of the room startled her, but not so much as the sight of a man emerging from a door that had suddenly appeared in the wall. Her eyes flew open wide, and she was about to scream when, covering the distance between them surprisingly quickly, the stranger was suddenly upon her. Placing a large hand over her mouth, he stifled her cry. The woman attempted to struggle, but she was no match for the man who held her.

'Bloody hell, you said this room would be on the soldiers' floor, not a woman's!' The words were issued by another man, who followed from the hidden passageway.

'We must have taken a wrong turn in the dark. What should we do now?' The second man made a quick gesture, drawing his finger across his throat. The poor girl attempted to struggle even more, but it was futile. 'Seems a waste, can't we take her with us, while away a few hours?' At that Angeline found some purchase and kicked out at the man, catching him off guard, her foot connecting with his shin, just as her teeth bit into the soft flesh of his hand. 'Bitch!' the man shouted. Instinctively, he took hold of her head and gave it a quick twist. The sickening sound as her slim neck snapped seemed to fill the room.

'Drag her in here, no one will find her, at least not until we are done. Hurry up.' He disappeared back inside the passageway and waited as his ally dragged the unfortunate girl inside the tunnel, plummeting the space into darkness as the door clicked closed behind him. A candle blossomed to life, creating a soft glow that illuminated the macabre sight of Angeline's corpse, now lying against the wall, her still, pale face looking upward at an unnatural angle.

'Get the drawing out again, we need to see where we went wrong.' They stood silently, lamp raised, as they studied the diagram that had been drawn for them, showing the complex system of passageways that linked the kitchens and pantries to the rest of the lodge.

oOo

Having alerted the Musketeers guarding the perimeter to take care and remain extra vigilant, Athos took the front steps two at a time, hurrying to inform Treville what he had discovered. Like the Captain, he, too, wished they had been able to bring the extra men they had planned for. Recent events had made him realise just how vulnerable they were, even more so than travelling on the road; the lodge was too big to manage, and the staff too much of an unknown quantity. At least at somewhere like Rambouillet the staff were well known, and any newcomers could be monitored and watched.

Once informed of the Captain's whereabouts, Athos headed to one of the small saloons on the first floor, knocking upon the door with some urgency. The familiar summons almost made him smile – despite the lavish surroundings, Treville was, and always would be, a soldier.

'Come.' Treville knew it was one of his men, as the servants merely opened the door and entered, on the supposition that those inside would either lock the door if they wanted privacy, or simply cease to discuss anything they wished to remain private as soon as they entered.

The expression on Athos' face had Treville rising from his desk. 'What is wrong?'

The swordsman strode into the middle of the room and then stopped. 'I was walking around the outside of the lodge, getting an idea of the surroundings. There is broken glass at the rear of the building and a broken pane in one of the first floor windows, I suspect part of the servants' domain. It may be nothing but…' He shrugged his shoulders then waited for the Captain to speak.

Treville had been on the verge of boredom; even after assessing and reassessing their situation, there was very little else he could do. He had planned to walk around himself and check upon the men, but he knew Athos would have positioned them well. It still annoyed him that the man did not wear the pauldron he deserved upon his shoulder; the men listened to him and, apart from Deveaux, they did not question his instructions. Athos never ordered, he simply suggested, but it was enough. With this new information he wasted no more time.

'Show me.' The two men marched out of the room and made for the ground floor, coming across Duval on the way.

'I need someone who can easily identify a window from outside and tell us which room it is,' said the Captain. The man showed no emotion or surprise at the odd request. 'I will find Henri, he is one of the original members of staff, and will be able to answer your question.' Bowing, he turned and headed for the kitchens. By the time Treville and Athos reached the gravelled driveway, Henri was rushing out of the lodge entrance.

'Henri we need your assistance,' Treville explained. 'It appears there is a broken window at the rear of the building and we wish to know which room it belongs to.' The footman nodded and followed the two men around the exterior. The wind had increased in its ferocity, the branches now bent over, swaying violently, and the dark clouds that had been hovering in the distance had finally arrived, halting directly overhead – rain was imminent.

Reaching the spot where Athos had noted the glass, he identified the broken window for Henri. The young man peered up through the gloom and nodded.

'That is a storeroom. It holds extra supplies when there is a hunting party in residence but, though it is full, we have not needed to access it, as the lodge has only had residents for one day. I doubt we would begin to require those stores for another couple of weeks.'

Treville screwed up his eyes and gazed at the window.

'What lies on either side?' Athos asked.

'The meat pantry, and the dry store, herbs and flour and such,' Henri explained.

'So, those rooms would be constantly in use?' Athos continued. Henri did not need to consider the question.

'Of course, those rooms are needed for almost every meal; the kitchen maids or cook are in and out all day.' It was as Athos suspected. He looked at Treville.

'It was no accident. There are three windows accessible from these buttresses and the ledge beneath. If someone had broken into either of the other rooms, it would have been discovered quickly – there was even the risk they may be inhabited – but the room in the middle will not be opened and used for a week or more; ample time for whoever broke in to do whatever they planned to and escape, maybe using the same route to get back outside.

'Realisation registered upon the Captain's face. 'We need to look inside. We need to check if that window could have been opened by reaching through that small hole.' He made to move but Henri spoke.

'I can answer that for you, Captain. I happen to know that the windows can indeed be opened by making such a small hole. Some months ago, one of the kitchen maids went to the dry store to collect herbs. She had been gone some time and when we went to find her, we discovered someone had locked her in and she could not get out. She was panicking, as she does not like confined spaces and the room is small. Whilst someone went to find a spare key, another footman climbed up the buttresses here and made his way along the ledge. He broke one of the small panes and was able to put his hand inside and open the latch; the poor girl was quite beside herself and unable to help.'

'Who was the footman, the one who climbed up?' Athos asked, seemingly no more than curious. However, Henri was no fool; he understood the reason behind the question.

'Jean Paul. He is no longer with us; he left some weeks ago, without notice.' He spoke quietly but his words rang loud and clear, the message they inferred needing no further explanation.

'The King!' Treville shouted, and the three men ran back toward the front of the lodge, leaving Henri to report the breakage to Duval as they raced along the corridor, passing a very surprised Aramis and Porthos on their way, and soon there were four of them sprinting toward the royal apartments. They paused before the door and composed themselves briefly before Treville knocked and entered.

The sound of laughter reached their ears and they halted at the sight before them. The King had his arms around the lovely Suzanne, and he was showing her how to perfect her croquet swing; hitting the ball through a series of hoops that had somehow been erected in the large room.

The King looked up at the sudden entrance of the four men, noting they had obviously been running.

'Is something wrong, Treville?' For a moment the smile disappeared from his face and he appeared worried.

'It is possible we have an intruder in the lodge, Your Majesty. I would urge you to retire to your room until we have made a complete search of the building.' He expected the King to complain, or Richelieu to intervene, but neither spoke.

In the brief silence that followed Treville's announcement, the doors opened once more and the Queen swooped in, followed by her entourage. It was obvious she was upset.

'What is wrong, my dear?' the King asked, moving toward his wife.

'Angeline is missing. She went to her room to retire almost two hours ago and she has not been seen since; her necklace was found upon the floor, and the chain has been broken. I am afraid for her.' She held the fragile object aloft in her hands, all eyes transfixed upon the swinging locket.

Athos looked away and sought _her_ out. She, too, was no longer watching the Queen, but was gazing at him. Her eyes held a strange expression; there was an urgency, a need, and he feared whatever it was she wished to impart, it would not be good.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Milady had entered the library with a silken swish of her skirts, the sudden rush of air as she opened the door causing the candles to gutter in their holders. It was only early afternoon, but the dark, heavy clouds had plunged the lodge into an early darkness. As yet, there was no sign of rain, but it felt as though the very air were holding its breath for the downpour to begin once more.

If Richelieu had noted her arrival, he made no sign. Standing erect and still, his silhouette resembled a statue, positioned as he was in the long window. He gazed out toward the tremulous forest, where boughs swayed back and forth, as if fighting the furious wind could ward off the oncoming storm.

'You took your time.' He did not turn, simply letting the statement hang in the air.

'I came as soon as I was able, my time is not exactly my own,' was her only reply.

He turned slowly and gave her a cold smile.

'It never has been, my dear.' How she loathed the man, but he paid her well, and in most cases the tasks he wished her to perform caused her no undue concern. Today, he wasted no time – no preamble, no sly innuendo – straight to the heart of the matter.

'What is your relationship with the man Athos?' Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been that. For once, her carefully schooled features let her down, though perhaps it was propitious. Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her throat but, luckily for her, the Cardinal interpreted the movement as an indication of surprise, not the subconscious movement of discomfort that had her hand reaching unconsciously for the hidden scar around her neck.

'You appear surprised, my dear. Tell me, have I offended your delicate sensibilities? I must say I find that hard to believe, though you do appear to be at a loss. Perhaps I misread your interest, perhaps there is really nothing higher in your observation than simple lust.' He smiled, his narrowed eyes watching her every move.

Momentarily, she felt relief flood her veins. Her shocked reaction had worked in her favour, as Richelieu had read her response as one of genuine surprise, but her mind raced, trying to retain control of her body language, aware that any mistake on her part could be devastating – to both her and Athos. She hung her head slightly, giving herself time to formulate a response before giving the Cardinal an amused smile – coy would have been ridiculous.

'I suppose he holds a certain allure; I did not realise I was being so obvious.' She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders and attempted to appear just a little discomfited.

'Your interest would be obvious to a blind man, my dear, I thought you a more subtle creature. Still, perhaps soldiers need a less refined approach, I doubt fluttering your eyelashes would be sufficient.'

She offered no reply, but her senses were on high alert. Why the sudden interest in her love life? For a second, a vile prospect occurred to her – surely he had not bought her along on this trip for _that_? She had been desperate and down to her last sous when she had brought herself to the First Minister's attention, wearing a stolen gown and jewels, their owner cold, dead and already completely forgotten. It had taken all of her acting skills, as well as several others, to suffer the man in her bed; no wonder Athos had reeled away in disgust. However, her choices had been few, and fate had stepped in, throwing her into the path of the most powerful man in France, or so many believed; though, of course, not the King, the opportunity had been too good to ignore. Luckily, he had tired of her corporeal services once he had become aware of her more devious talents. Surely he did not wish to rekindle _that_ part of their relationship?

Something in her eyes must have betrayed her concern and Richelieu began to laugh, though the sound was harsh and cold.

'Oh, do not worry, I am not jealous, nor do I have need of your libidinous talents. No indeed, I was merely hoping to put your carnal appetites to good use.' His lips narrowed and he grew serious once more. 'Treville is up to something, and I want to know what it is. Athos appears to be his golden boy, so bed the man and find out what he knows; if necessary, bed them all – just find out what the hell is going on.' He stalked back over to the window just in time to witness Athos and Treville running up the lodge steps. The First Minister made no further comment but stalked past Milady, shouldering her aside and rushing from the room.

She stood in complete shock – of all the things she had expected to be asked to do, bedding Athos had not been one of them. When the reality of the request hit her, she did not know whether to laugh or be horrified, though the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach suggested the idea held a certain appeal.

oOo

She now stood on the opposite side of the room to the man she had been ordered to seduce; he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Captain, his two _bodyguards_ just behind him. They were all staring at the delicate locket suspended from the Queen's hand – but not Athos, he was staring at her, and she could not look away. His face was hard and earnest – why was it that an expression that sent most men running for the hills, made her want to do just the opposite? In fact, made her want to do things no _lady_ should even know about – but then, luckily, she was no lady.

'Athos, go with the others. Order a search of the lodge if necessary – but find her.' Treville delivered the order quietly, in an effort to allay the Queen's fears; there was no point raising a hue and cry until they were sure foul play was involved. The Lady Angeline had proved to be accident prone, so it was possible that she may have taken a fall or wandered into the wrong part of the building – but somehow he did not believe that would prove to be the case.

Athos turned and left, Aramis and Porthos close behind, none of the three men noticing her follow them from the room. She did not know for sure why she had, it was certain to be observed, but it was time to cease standing on the sidelines, she wanted to be part of whatever was afoot, and she did not like cowering in the shadows like a wallflower merely forced to stand and watch.

The three men reached the room allotted to Angeline and, finding the door slightly ajar, Athos pushed it open, hand instinctively upon the hilt of his sword. Aramis had already drawn his weapon, and all three men entered the room prepared for trouble, but it was silent, except for the steady rhythm of the first raindrops upon the windows sounding in the empty room. Aramis scratched his head.

'She cannot have simply disappeared.' He scanned the room, looking for anything that appeared out of place. 'There does not look as if there is anything amiss in the room, everything appears as it should.' He turned to the two men just in time to see Athos raise a brow and Porthos begin to smile.

'Well you would be the one to know my friend, if any of us did,' Porthos grinned. Aramis smiled and gave a small bow. Athos had moved further into the room, turning around as though looking for something in particular.

'What do we know of the Lady Angeline?' the swordsman asked, directing his question to no one in particular. There was a slight hesitation, but the voice that answered had him pivot toward the doorway in surprise.

'She is young, recently attached to the Queen's household, an innocent from the country. Do not suspect her of any intrigue.' Milady offered the information from her position in the entrance to the room, and she could not fail to notice the looks of hostility emanating from Porthos and Aramis. She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders and offered them a haughty smile. 'I thought I may be of help.' Maintaining her position, Milady refused to be affected by the two Musketeers' obvious dislike. She had no idea how much they knew, but it was obviously enough for them to regard her with animosity.

Athos' voice cut through the growing tension. 'What do you know?' As she went to walk into the room, Aramis and Porthos stood before her barring her way.

'Call off your watchdogs, I am hardly a threat to your person.' She gave the two Musketeers a look of mild annoyance. With a nod from Athos they parted, giving her just enough room to manoeuvre between them.

'Is there a hidden doorway in this room, do you know?' Athos asked her, ignoring the frowns from the two men.

'I am not sure. There is not one in my room, but there is definitely one in the King and Queen's rooms, as well as Richelieu's.' Athos nodded and, despite the two men's obvious discomfort at Milady's presence, without further explanation all four of them began to examine the walls.

It was Aramis who found the uneven line that revealed the hidden opening. He glanced over his shoulder, calling to the others: 'I have found it, but I cannot see how it opens, there is no carving to press or any other protrusion to manipulate.'

'Press around the wall,' Athos suggested, 'it may have a hidden mechanism.' All the while he ignored her presence, despite the fact he was aware of her every movement.

Once again, it was Aramis who found what they were looking for. The wall seemed to give for a second beneath his fingers and a soft click could be heard behind the wall, the only indication he had found the entrance. The wall appeared to move toward him, and a panel a little smaller than a normal doorway stood proud from the rest of the structure. The others crowded behind him, Milady standing a little further away, not sure of her position. Aramis pulled the door open as Athos and Porthos braced themselves, weapons at the ready.

For a moment, a dark space yawned before them, with just the smell of dust and damp. Then, as their eyes moved down toward the floor, Aramis gave a small moan. He fell to his knees and Athos and Porthos lowered their swords. The pale figure lay amongst the dust, her back against the wall; it would have looked as if she were merely asleep had it not been for the unnatural angle of her slim neck.

Aramis looked up and shook his head, then stood and thumped the wall. 'She was just a child, who would do such a thing, and why?' he asked, grinding his teeth in anger.

Porthos frowned – for a hardened soldier he had a heart that matched his size, and the sight of the broken girl angered him as much as it did Aramis.

It was Athos who spoke, quietly. 'I suspect she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she played no part in this, then she must have entered the room as they exited the passageway.'

'But why this room?' Aramis asked, puzzled. Athos shrugged his shoulders, staring past Aramis into the dark.

'Perhaps they made a mistake, perhaps it was the wrong room,' Athos mused, though he appeared to be far away. Suddenly Aramis pulled out his pistol and headed into the dark corridor.

'Where are you going?' Athos barked, though the question came out more like a croak; his throat had dried instantly upon the opening of the door as the darkness was revealed beyond, making all his following conversation difficult.

'We need to follow them, they have to be in here somewhere,' Aramis responded, running his hand through his hair in frustration. 'Are you not coming?' He noted the pallor of Athos' skin, the faint beads of sweat upon his upper lip. 'What is wrong, why do you hesitate?' He thought he noticed the woman make as if to reach out to the swordsman, but she stopped herself and let her hand drop to her sides. Porthos stood watching the tension play out between the two men.

At last, Athos answered, though his voice was low and controlled.

'We do not know where these passages lead, we would be running blind and they could strike without warning. It would be stupid to rush in without planning.' Aramis bristled at the remark, though he remained silent. 'Right now, we need a plan of the tunnels and we need to prevent the perpetrators from exiting into any more occupied rooms. Go and find Duval, see if there is a map of the network. Then we will proceed.'

The two men locked eyes. Athos knew the marksman was angry, but he knew his friend's passion was not directed at him. The image of the woman lying like a broken doll had affected Aramis, who worshipped all women with equal vigour – and Milady's lurking presence was not helping.

Porthos broke the tense silence. 'He is right Aramis, we would be sittin' ducks, who knows 'ow well they know those passages?' At last Aramis relaxed, nodded, and walked back into the room, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder. Milady noted the gesture and almost rolled her eyes, though deep down she could not help feeling a spark of jealously for the closeness of these men. She had long ago chosen to forgo the comfort of friends – after all, everyone betrayed you in the end.

Having noted the rapid breaths his friend struggled to curtail, if Aramis was unconvinced by Athos' reasoning, he realised that now was not the time for such a conversation. The marksman left the room, his expression clearly showing his distress, but more evident was his disgust for the woman who hovered in the room like a malevolent presence. He could not understand why Athos allowed her the opportunity to get underneath his skin that way. Irritated, he stalked along the corridor to fetch the necessary plan.

The atmosphere in the room was so palpable that the three occupants felt they could have reached out and touched it. Porthos gently lifted the slight body of Angeline from its dusty tomb and laid it reverently upon the bed, his face muscles taut with anger at so frail a creature's life so violently snuffed out. He pulled the sheet over her tiny form, her imprint hardly bigger than that of a child.

'They didn't 'ave to kill 'er. We know they've been 'ere anyway,' he growled, fists clenched in anger.

Athos nodded, leaning his head upon his hand, bracing against the wall. He the dark passageway with distaste, though the colour that had leached from his face had now begun to return. Quietly, he addressed the big Musketeer.

'Go and advise all those who have doorways in their rooms to have heavy furniture pulled in front of them; no one else will fall victim to these fools' mistakes.' He pushed himself away from the entrance and, in a rare sign of emotion, kicked the door closed. Porthos tipped his head toward the silent woman standing beside the bed staring down at the still form.

'What about her?' he hissed.

'She is my problem,' Athos replied, his icy glare making it clear he would not discuss the issue further. Porthos glared at Milady, who at least had the sense to read the tension in the room and remain silent. Porthos grunted and, like Aramis, stalked from the room not happy at all.

'What do you want?' Athos whispered. He glared at her, the intensity of his gaze making heat settle low in her stomach.

She would like to have made an appropriate response – something in the vein of being worried about the missing girl. The truth was, she cared very little, but she had needed to see _him_ – though she had no intention of sharing that fact.

'The Cardinal likes to know what is happening,' she finally replied, with an air of disinterest. 'He prefers his information first-hand, rather than relying on misinformation and supposition.' The inference was not lost on Athos and his lips twisted in a snarl.

'Of course he does, I am sure it makes for fascinating pillow talk.' It was not like him to stoop so low, but he was tired, so very tired. He had thought himself in hell before, but at least then he dwelt in a nightmare of regret and guilt. Now his emotions were so complex and tangled he simply did not know where to begin. This woman, who refused to let him be, elicited such a fierce reaction that he both hated and needed her, loathed and loved her. God it was a mess. Her eyes narrowed at his jibe and she straightened her shoulders, showing smooth pale skin that appeared pearlescent in the encroaching gloom.

'Think what you will, but we are all trapped in this pathetic place together.' She had sought to offer her help, but not now, let him wallow in his own self-pity. 'Perhaps I should go into the passageway and seek what you cannot. I presume they do not know of your fear? The mighty swordsman, so afraid of the dark. At least when you get to hell, there will be plenty of light, even if it is the glow of fire.' With that, she held her head high and turned to leave.

'Do not seek me out again, Anne. I refuse to play your games. Kill me if you must, but I will not be used for your entertainment. People are dying and I have a job to do.' His words lashed out at her with a force that slowed her exit. She did not turn or cease to move toward the door, but her words were clear.

'Well at least this time you cannot blame me.'

oOo

It was late, and the lodge had finally fallen silent. All of those in the royal party had retired early, much fuss having been made piling excessive amounts of furniture in front of the passageway entrances. It had been decided that entering into them to seek those responsible was not the best solution, as they would be far too vulnerable. Athos had appeared relieved at the decision, but said nothing. Musketeers and Red Guards had been stationed at other doors, and those that could not be watched, held closed like the others. Treville had been furious when he had heard of Milady's involvement. He had ordered Athos from the premises and told him to remain on the outside of the lodge for the remainder of the night. Deveaux had chuckled at the dressing down, and though he did not understand what Athos had done wrong, he did not care, he was just enjoying watching the man squirm.

Following the announcement that Angeline's body had been found, Athos had managed to avoid Aramis and Porthos. There had been an outcry from the Queen and her party and the King had done much ranting and pacing and, as he entered Roger's stall and leant his head against the horse's warm neck, Athos had to admit he was enjoying the quiet. He heard a faint rustle, but it was the scent that made him turn.

Athos was still furious with her, and the anger glittered in his green eyes. If she had been honest with herself, she would have known right then that she would fail– his anger had never done anything but inflame her desire. His remark had rankled and writhed inside her head, growing and fuelling her own anger. So, he preferred death, so be it, she had worked herself into such a frenzy she had really believed she could grant him his wish.

The tip of the knife traced his throat, settling in the soft hollow where his pulse beat, steady and strong, beneath the small blade; a reminder of the life throbbing helpless beneath her fingers. As her own heart rate increased along with his, she felt a surge of power. Halting at the chain around his neck, she lifted it slowly from beneath his shirt, letting it swing suspended from the blade. She arched her brow and licked her lips, enjoying his vulnerability.

Slowly she lowered the trinket to its rightful home and, replacing the knife against his skin once more, she traced the path her fingers had once known so well. Down it slid, through the dark hair that showed tantalizingly erotic above his open shirt, stopping abruptly where the fabric covered his chest.

It was then she made her mistake – she looked up into his eyes. Had she held to her quest, she may have driven the knife through his treacherous heart; but no, the close proximity of his body was, as always, her undoing. She had made an error, she should have crept up behind him in the dark, driven the knife into his back and then melted away into the night. She had been a fool to want to see his expression, knowing full well he would never beg for his life – not from anyone, but especially not from her.

As the knife slid further down his throat, Athos hardly dared to breathe – would she do it? He had no doubt she was capable – after all, she had done it before. Still, something about the steady pressure of the blade felt more seductive than threatening. What did she want from him?

He felt no fear. Did he really care if she took her revenge? What he felt, he dared not admit, it had always been this way between them, all or nothing. Whilst his heart beat hard in his chest, the burning of long controlled desire threatened to overwhelm him, despite the fact she literally held his life in her hands. The thrumming in his veins filled every inch of his body, his very skin felt as though it was on fire; the longing alone would surely consume him. He stared hard at the dark head of curls, as if his force of will alone could halt her intent, whatever that may be.

Their eyes locked, his green and hooded, arrogant to the last, hers superior and possessive, like a cat; breast heaving with anticipation, and not for the kill, for something much baser and more consuming.

Then it was done.

The knife clattered to the floor, its intention abandoned.

She pressed him back against the wall, all thoughts of killing forgotten. Perhaps there were better ways to get her revenge, ways which would be far more exhilarating than murder.

If she thought _she_ could walk away unscathed, then she was an utter fool.

As she pushed him backward, dropping the knife, Athos gripped her bare shoulders, and her mouth, no longer soft, pressed hard against his, with an urgency born of desperation. He returned her hunger with an equal force he had not felt before, not in all the times he had taken her to his bed, or anywhere else. This was a burning need, filling both of their bodies, their very souls. Their passion had always been all-consuming, their love-making rarely gentle; they unleashed a part of each other they had never known existed until they had become one – both of them understanding they would never experience it with another, though God knows she had tried.

Frantically, she tugged the shirt over his head, burying her hands in his chest, the warmth and rapid beat of his heart beneath her soft fingers, as she explored the contours of his body. It had changed since they had last been together, now it was lean and hard, firmly muscled, the dark hair hiding the scars from his recent exploits. Somehow the thought of him so close to death only increased her longing, and she bit hard into his shoulder, as though the moan it elicited reassured her he truly lived.

He gripped the neck of her gown and tugged it hard, the ripping of fabric lost in a soft cry as her breasts at last touched his feverish skin. If there had been a moment when they could have stopped and ended the madness it was now past. Rational thought had forsaken them both, replaced only by a need that overpowered and consumed them.

He pushed her backwards and down upon the clean straw, relishing the sight of her pale skin in the moonlight; they were made for the darkness, creatures that should only inhabit the night, where desire and animal lust were slaked.

He bent to kiss the soft mound of her breast and she grabbed onto his hair, crying softly into the silence. She pulled his mouth back to hers, wanting to taste him, to feed on his desire, to feel the firm, soft lips pressing hers. God, how she had missed this.

There was no stopping now. Slowly, he slid the silk up her long legs, holding her stare, almost daring her to deny him further pleasure. No, she would not, could not – she, too, was beyond rational thought as she tugged at the buttons on his breeches. Soon it would be too late, but by then it would no longer matter. She could stab him if she still could, in fact he prayed she would.

As he ran his fingers along the inside of her silky thighs, she arched her back like a cat, digging her nails into the muscles of his shoulders; tomorrow there would be scars of a different kind, they would need no medic, but perhaps a priest. He bore down on her, trapping her body beneath his; there would be nothing gentle about tonight, it was as if their mutual anger fuelled their desire, and they came together with a power and urgency that was both satisfying and terrifying.

Her world shattered in ecstasy, and all her plans with it; this was the only pleasure she had ever truly known – with him. It would always be this way, and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she finally admitted the truth. They were meant to be, in ways too dark to admit; together they were all powerful, apart they would forever remain diminished.

He cried out, pinning her to floor with his hands. As his world exploded in a frenzy of sensation, his heart began to bleed. He gazed down at her, the power and fire in his eyes melting her soul. As his lips found hers once more, there was a softness this time, as their mutual tears flowed, and they clung together as if it were their last day on this earth.

She pushed him away, afraid to look into those eyes again, afraid of what he would see – anger, lust need, any of those would be safe, but anything more final would undo her. They had not spoken, only the moans and cries of pleasure had passed between them, and oh what pleasure. She pulled her dress together as best she could and draped her cloak to cover the damage. She could hear his breathing, still rapid and ragged, but he made no move to stand. When he still did not speak, she turned to go. Then his voice, low and husky reached out to her in the darkness, the tone caressing her like silk, but the words cutting like a blade.

'It is over, let that be the end of it.' She could not tell if he was angry or distressed, but her heart hammered in her throat as she willed her legs to walk away. After all, what had she expected? As she exited the shadows of the stable, she blamed the sudden wind for the blurring of her vision, not the frail vestige of hope that now lay in tatters at her feet, along with the final piece of her heart.

This _would _be the last time, _had_ to be the last time. But, just as there would be no going back, neither would either of them ever move forward. Whilst they both lived, they would remain forever trapped in each other's arms and hearts – even if it were only inside their tortured nightmares.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Sometime earlier, Aramis had returned to the room, finding Athos now alone. Before entering fully, he glanced around to ensure the woman had indeed left. He made no comment as to her earlier presence, simply holding out the plan as requested.

'Duval gave me this – apparently there are several around the lodge. All new staff are presented with one, as the passages are complicated, and one can easily become lost. You were right to prevent me from following.' Aramis was nothing if not pragmatic; he did not bear a grudge for long against those he loved, and already he was beginning to feel guilt over his earlier behaviour – though he was still frustrated over Athos' tolerance of Milady's interference. 'Once inside, I, or anyone else in there, could easily be picked off by anyone more familiar with the twists and turns,' he continued. 'Apparently, there are many changes in levels and stairways – a nightmare.'

Athos was aware that Aramis was attempting to hold out an olive branch, and he fought to accept the gesture with the good grace it deserved. However, Athos could be stubborn, and his departing conversation with _her_ had left him in a dark place, so instead of smiling and thanking the Musketeer, he merely grunted.

Aramis watched the emotions play upon his friend's face. It never ceased to amaze him how Athos' face could one moment be an unreadable mask – his emotions impenetrable – then at other times he allowed his heart to show upon his features as clear as day – and this was one of those times. Anger, frustration, uncertainty and pain was what Aramis could see before him.

Part of him wanted to reach out and hug the foolish man, but another part wanted to thump him. He had chosen to put himself in harm's way, and there had been nothing Porthos or he could do about it. He dreaded to think what Porthos would have to say, as diplomacy was not one of the big man's strengths.

Athos frowned. 'We should report to Treville.' With that, he gripped the map Aramis had given him and strode past the surprised Musketeer. The two men headed toward the royal apartments, neither saying a word. Aramis' earlier guilt was rapidly being replaced by annoyance and, by the time they reached the doorway, the tension was evident in both men's faces.

Athos pushed open the door to find a somewhat disturbed scene. Many of the women were quietly sniffling into handkerchiefs, the Queen was seated and talking quietly to the Cardinal, whilst the King was pacing the floor and complaining loudly.

'This is completely unacceptable, Treville. I cannot have innocent women being slain in their bedchambers. What if it had been my apartment, what then? I expected more from you, Captain.' Treville stood silently, taking all the King threw at him. His face was as blank as the man was able to maintain, but he did not have Athos' talent, and his anger was fairly obvious. Normally, it was up to the Queen to provide the voice of reason, but today she was preoccupied and Treville did not have her support.

The entire situation had gone from bad to worse. Athos, in his distracted state, had not anticipated that by sending Porthos with the instruction to bar the passageway doors he would be the first person to break the news of Angeline's passing and, in any case, Porthos would not have been the first choice for that job. Treville had not been pleased when Porthos blurted out Athos' instructions as diplomatically as he was able, and all hell had broken loose. Treville's mood had darkened even further when Milady flounced into the room some minutes later, murder in her eyes. Treville had challenged her as to her whereabouts.

'Milady, may I ask where you have been?' He eyed the woman with obvious distaste, and that alone made her already seething anger boil over.

'No, you may not!' Then her eyes narrowed, and a sly smile spread across her beautiful features. 'But if you must know, I have been assisting Monsieur Athos with his duties.' She revelled in the thunderous expression her news elicited from the Musketeer Captain, as well as noting Suzanne toss her curls in annoyance. All in all, a serious victory.

So, by the time Athos and Aramis entered the room, Treville badly needed someone, or something, to vent his anger upon, and it was unfortunate that several other Musketeers were now present, adding to the ferocity of Treville's reaction.

Athos bowed before the King and turned to Treville. 'I have a plan of the tunnels, and I suggest we guard each opening. Entering would be folly.' Only then did he take in the Musketeer Captain's expression and realised the mood he had walked into.

'Oh do you? Forgive me, Your Highness, I must secure the lodge and take my men. I suggest you retire to your rooms, the passageways in the apartments have been blocked.' With that, he turned and left, not waiting for Louis' permission.

Outside in the corridor, he rounded on Athos. 'Just what do you think you were doing ordering Aramis not to follow the assassins? Who gave you the authority to make that decision?' Treville did not give the subdued man time to answer before continuing his diatribe. 'And what were you doing allowing a woman to interfere? Of all the stupid, ill-considered things to do.' At this point, he lowered his voice so only Athos could hear.

'After the considerable effort we have taken to protect you, you choose to ignore all of that and invite _her_ to offer her assistance. You must be mad.' Now raising his voice once more, he completed his tirade. 'Get back to the stables, see to the horses and weapons and stay there until I send for you. I do not want to see you until I no longer the need to shoot you.' That said, Treville turned on his heel and indicated that the rest of the Musketeers should follow him. None of them held Athos' eye; Aramis and Porthos tried to attract his attention, but he deliberately stared straight ahead, face blank, but very pale. Only Deveaux, addressed the man directly.

'Oh dear, stepped out of line have we? Upset the Captain? How does it feel to be a failure? Not the golden boy now, are we? Not even a Musketeer – _just nothing!_' The last two words he spat out in hatred, enjoying every minute of Athos' fall from grace. As the sound of booted footsteps died away, Athos was left standing in the corridor, alone and stunned.

He had not asked for any of this. He had not asked his ex-wife to shadow his every move; he had not asked to be forced to reveal more of his sordid past to his friends; he had not asked those friends to prevent his past from catching up with him. Still, it had all happened anyway, and decisions made that fateful summer's day were still crying out to be acknowledged. When the sound of female voices began to grow closer, only then did Athos manage to force his body to move.

He was not concerned with the humiliation, nor was he concerned that he may have made an error of judgement – though he did not believe he had – no, he was devastated to have let his Captain down. He knew the man had gone out of his way to keep him out of trouble, to keep _her_ as far away as possible, and Athos had flung that effort back in his face. As for his friends, he did not even know how to begin to apologise.

oOo

It was many hours later when Aramis and Porthos were finally relieved of their duty and had the opportunity to discuss Athos' fate.

'Have you seen him?' Aramis asked, his face filled with concern.

Porthos shook his head. 'Not since we left him stood in the corridor.' Both men were agitated; knowing how Athos could react to such circumstances, and the mood Treville was in, a drunken Athos would be the last straw.

'Does he have anything with him?' Aramis asked in desperation. Porthos simply rolled his eyes, not even bothering to answer. 'We need to find him,' Aramis stated, as though the decision was some form of revelation.

'Well he shouldn't be too difficult to track down, Treville told 'im to stay outside. The mood the Captain was in, I doubt even Athos would have disobeyed.' The two men exchanged glances, noting that neither was truly convinced by Porthos' remark.

As they exited the main building, the wind was still strong, but the rain had finally diminished to a gentle drizzle. Considering the rain that had lashed the area all day, leaving in the morning would be unthinkable, but they prayed perhaps one dry day and the river may be passable.

oOo

As the two Musketeers made their way over to the stables, somewhere in the woods four men huddled inside a small wooden structure amongst the trees.

'It's no good sulking, Renard. You try finding your way around those passages in the dark – even with a candle it is almost impossible. And anyway, we didn't get caught.' The man accused of sulking brooded in the corner. The words finally galvanised him into action and he gave the man who spoke a sudden glare.

'All of that aside, Bertrand, did you have to kill the girl?' Renard growled, scowling at the man who had spoken.

'Does it matter?' a hoarse voice interrupted. 'Either way – right room, wrong room – they would have known we had been there. At least they are nervous now, and nervous people make mistakes.' The brooding man eyed the speaker cautiously. They did not like him; he was crazy – obsessed with the object of his hatred. Frustration with inequality was one thing, and to wish to provoke a revolution was understandable, but this man's fixation was unnatural.

Renard watched the man with calculating eyes. 'We have lost the element of surprise, those two fools who jumped them saw to that. Now we will have to wait. There will be little point trying to re-enter the house when they are watching for us. No, we will wait until they are on the move, then they will be vulnerable.' The man with the husky voice spoke up in anger.

'Why wait? They are not heavily guarded, we could take them.' His feverish expression flashed with something akin to madness, and Renard began to question the wisdom of their partnership.

'Do not be so stupid, we are only four men, the river has cut us off from the rest. We cannot hope to succeed against twelve Musketeers, and that is not including the Guard. We must wait until we can regroup, then we will have a stronger chance. Do not do something stupid – if you choose to act, then you will be on your own.

The man he addressed glared in anger, his face mirroring the red glow of the fire they sat beside. Somehow, the flames that reflected in his eyes only emphasised the man's frail semblance of sanity. Reynard shuddered. He was a ruthless man, but this obsession was going to get them all killed.

oOo

Aramis and Porthos hunched their shoulders against the wind, which still raged with force, though they were relieved to see the stars now filled the sky, the clouds blown clear, promising a night without rain. A faint gleam came from the large barn where those Musketeers not on duty were sleeping, the braziers burning steadily, keeping the large space comfortably warm. There was not a sound apart from the occasional snore or grunt from a sleeping soldier. Aramis and Porthos quickly scanned the room, but could see no sign of their friend, though neither were surprised. Aramis ran his hands through his hair, a sure sign of frustration or concern.

'Roger,' Porthos declared with a sly smile. Aramis grinned and slapped the big man on the shoulder. Together they crossed the cobbled yard and entered the warmth of the stable. Over twenty horses in close proximity did not need a brazier to keep it warm, and the gentle shuffling of hooves and the soft snickering of the horses always created a comfortable atmosphere. Both men knew it was a place of refuge for Athos, somewhere he could come and talk, without really giving away his secrets. However, they were not expecting the sight that greeted them. Athos was sitting on the floor of the stable amongst the straw, his back to the wall and legs outstretched. In his hands was a bottle, and on his face an expression of raw torment. The two men exchanged glances then, without a word, took up positions on either side of the silent man.

'Were you going to share that?' Aramis asked, giving Athos a nudge on the shoulder. Athos did not answer.

'Nah, he was going to drink it all himself and give Deveaux another reason to gloat,' Porthos scoffed, unable to keep the anger from his voice. Still, the approach worked, and Athos handed the bottle to Porthos. The big man took it but, to his surprise, the bottle was much heavier than he had expected; holding it up to the light from the wall sconce, he discovered the brandy bottle was still full. Without taking a swig, he passed it to Aramis, with a simple twitch of his brow to express his apprehension.

Aramis felt the weight of the bottle and gave a responding expression of surprise.

'I know you two are talking over my head,' Athos announced quietly.

Aramis grinned. 'I do not know what you mean, though I am pleased you did not start the party without us, my friend. A fine brandy is just what we need after the events of the day.' Athos gave the Musketeer the faintest twitch of his brow – if only Aramis knew.

The three men sat in silence, drinking from the bottle. There was so much Athos wanted to say, but it was simply too complicated, and this time he really did not know where to begin. He was relieved when Aramis suddenly spoke and, though the question sent a chill of fear throughout his body, it was still better than the topic he had been expecting.

'Why did you not wish to go into the tunnel?' There it was, the enquiry that had fallen to the back of everyone's minds. What with Angeline and Milady, Athos had hoped his reaction to the dark passageways had gone unnoticed; he should have known better of the medic.

'I thought I had made it clear. We did not know what we would come across once inside, and we had no idea where the passageways would lead.' Athos took a swig from the bottle, hoping it would be enough.

'I've seen you 'ead off after armed men without a thought for your own safety – I don't believe you.' Porthos' remark, took Athos by surprise. It was unusual for the Musketeer to be so confrontational; he usually left this kind of thing to Aramis and simply bided his time, and that he had been so blunt was a measure of how cross he was with Athos' earlier behaviour. Athos breathed deeply, but still said nothing.

'Treville wants us to go in tomorrow if there has been no sign of the assailants. He needs to know if they are empty or whether there are any more unpleasant surprises.'

Athos' head came up in alarm. 'Has he asked for me?' The look on his face told Aramis all he needed to know, and he placed a hand upon his friend's arm to reassure him.

'No, he made no mention of names. At the time, you were the last person he wished to discuss.' Athos nodded his understanding.

A strong gust of wind caused the sconce to gutter and die, plunging the three men into darkness. Aramis paused to see how Athos would react; if it was the dark that the swordsman disliked then surely now would be the time to tell. He listened carefully, but Athos' breathing remained regular and steady, no sign of stress or panic. Not the dark then. Porthos made to stand to relight the torch, but Athos placed a restraining hand upon his arm.

'Leave it.' Porthos hesitated, then regained his seat, sensing there was more to come. Whatever Athos wished to tell them, he preferred to do it in the dark. Both men waited in anticipation, hearts pounding, both experiencing the same sense of dread that whatever Athos was about to reveal, it was not going to be good. They felt as though they had waited interminably when in reality it was merely seconds. Athos cleared his throat and began to speak.

His voice was cold, and low, he sounded as though he was talking to himself, or perhaps he was simply confessing to the dark.

'When I was eight, we had a cat that lived in the kitchens; it killed the mice and slept on the hearth at night. Sometimes, when nobody noticed, I would sneak in for a cup of milk and play with the cat for a short while. It was a sleek black cat with green eyes.' He could almost feel the two men exchange glances over his head, but he ignored the sensation and continued. 'One evening, I went to the kitchen as usual and found one of the young maids crying, the cat asleep on her lap, or so I believed. Apparently, it had ingested some poison or other, put down for the rats on the estate, and he was dead. I had never seen a dead creature before, apart from rabbits and birds my father had hunted. I remember stroking it – it was still warm and soft. The maid said they were going to bury it in the kitchen garden, and I became upset. It still felt so alive; I could not bear to think of it being placed in a hole in the ground. I must have hurried back up to the house, and I ran into my father.' Athos stopped and paused for a moment, as though the memory was still painful.

'Of course, he was angry; for so many reasons: that I had visited the kitchen, played with the cat but, most of all, that I was upset over its burial. Once again, I had disappointed him, not showing the backbone that a… a son of his was supposed to.' _You are pathetic. How can you be the future Comte, a De la F__è__re? Ha, sometimes I wonder if you are my son at all. If you did not have the features of your forebears, I would be convinced of your mother's perfidy._ He could hear his father's tongue lashing in his head, remembering how he had stared up at him, still crying over the fate of the kitchen cat.

'He took me by the hand and, for a moment, I thought he meant to console me. I can remember it was rare for him to do that, hold my hand, and it was good, it felt strong and safe. Then he took me from the house and into the grounds. We walked some way; I wanted to enjoy it, though I sensed he was still angry, but he was still holding my hand – and I liked it.'

Again he paused, and the two men heard him take another swig from the bottle. Neither man wanted to breathe in case Athos ceased his story.

'It felt as though we had walked miles, but it must have been less than one. He had brought me to the family mausoleum, which was surrounded by trees in a dark and gloomy spot. It was cold, and despite it being early summer, with the sun unable to break through the boughs of the trees I felt chilled and began to shiver.'

'_Stop snivelling boy. Do you know what this is? Do you?'_

'_Yes sir, it is where grandpapa lies and his grandpapa before him.' _

'_Precisely – and where I_,_ too_,_ will lie, and then your mother, then you and Thomas.'_

'He produced a large key from high up on a ledge and unlocked the iron gates. They creaked, and the sound echoed around the glade, making the birds take flight from the trees. I wanted to go home, but my father still held my hand and, it being a rare event, I did not want him to stop. We went inside and he began to light the sconces around the walls. As they illuminated the gloom, I could see a wall of narrow shelves with boxes slid inside each one.' _Now_ Aramis could hear the change in the swordsman's breathing; his voice sounded ragged, and it was clear that he was struggling with the memory and, for the first time, he began to suspect what it was that Athos was afraid of.

'He walked me around the huge room, telling me who lay where and how long ago it had been since they had been put there. I hardly heard a word he said – I could only see the narrow slots, and the boxes that filled the space. They seemed so small, even to me as a boy, and I began to panic. I could feel the wood pressing on my arms, the roof of the shelf above my nose, the whole space trapping my body, preventing me from moving.' Athos' breathing was becoming rapid, and Aramis did not know whether to stop him or allow him to let it all out into the open. Athos made the decision for him.

'I began to scream, to panic, I tried to run but my father caught me; he shouted and yelled but I fought. I was terrified of the small space, of not being able to move my arms, of having the roof so close to my face. In the end he slapped me; I suppose he had no choice, as I was hysterical by then.'

'_You will learn to be a noble, you will learn to hide your fears. You will thank me_,_ Olivier_,_ when you are older.'_

He took me to the far side of the room and made me sit. He told me to stay still until he told me to move. I watched him blow out the sconces, one by one, until he stood at the door. He told me to think about my folly and he would be back when I had calmed down and learnt to control my childish emotions. Then he shut the door.' Athos' voice cracked slightly, and Aramis felt his shoulders slump, but he didn't drink more of the brandy.

'I ran to the door and I banged and thumped until my fingers bled. I promised I would not cry over the cat, that I would never cry again if he would let me out.' Athos fell silent.

At last, Aramis could contain himself no longer. 'Did he let you out?'

'Yes,' Athos whispered.

'When?' Porthos asked, his voice filled with emotion.

'In the morning,' Athos admitted. 'I was in there all night.'

The two men said nothing. What could you say to such torment of a small child? But Porthos had to know.

'Did you? Did you cry again?'

'Not until my mother died; I kept my promise,' came Athos' almost inaudible whisper.

'How old were you?' he asked in horror.

'Seventeen.' Both men groaned simultaneously. Nine years, the boy had not shed a tear for another nine years.

'Your father was a monster,' Aramis offered gently. 'That is no way to treat a child. I am sorry, mon ami, I understand your fear.'

'I cannot go into those tunnels, Aramis,' Athos admitted.

'Do not fear, you will not, Porthos and I will make sure of it.' Aramis slid his arm around Athos' shoulders, smiling when he felt the big arm of Porthos had beaten him to it. Athos did not shrink from their support, he was too tired, and when Porthos eventually stood to re-light the torches, he saw that Athos was fast asleep upon Aramis' shoulder.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The sky was leaden, dark clouds threatening to drown those below with yet more rain – the last thing anyone inside the hunting lodge needed. Those waiting within paced up and down, or sat in a heightened state of nervous anticipation, pretending to read or take part in some tedious parlour game, whilst the walls began to close in upon them as they contemplated their fate behind forced smiles.

Treville stood in the window, his expression intense. However, it was not the ever-present threat of more rain that caused him to adopt such a thoughtful stance – he had no control upon the weather – it was the young man below who was eliciting the Captain's brooding scowl.

From his viewpoint, Treville could see the object of his dilemma clearly. Men were busy going about their duties, even Red Guards recognising the presence of danger. The morning may have been cold, damp and grey, but the regiment had positioned braziers at intervals around the lodge to make guard duty more bearable. The temperature had dropped sharply, and was far colder than was to be expected for the time of year, and there was no point losing a man to the chill weather when they were already far too thin on the ground for the situation in which they now found themselves.

Athos was keeping those men who were neither resting, nor occupied with other duties, busy. Presently, it was the two young men who had only recently made the move from cadet to soldier; pauldrons still shiny and unscathed, men still untested in the heat of action. All serving soldiers knew that periods of inactivity, when waiting for the enemy to show their next move, could lead to nervous tension. Men dealt with it in different ways, some morose and silent, others argumentative and aggressive, whilst the most dangerous of all were those who became increasingly afraid and trigger-happy.

Athos was seeking to avoid the latter by keeping the young men focused; he hoped experience would prevent the former – though he had little faith in the truculent Red Guard.

Treville watched, deep in thought, as Athos corrected the young men's stances. They began to spar and the Captain could tell by the reaction of the two young soldiers that Athos was offering words of encouragement. One of the pair, Bisset, found himself at the sharp end of his opponent's sword for the second time in as many minutes. Athos shook his head and drew his own weapon, indicating the defeated soldier should stand aside. Treville had to smile as he recognised the brief look of triumph cross the face of the young victor.

The two men began to move, one barely a man and the other, despite his air of experience, still young enough to be the Captain's son. The sound of metal on metal rang out in the otherwise silent countryside, Athos simply going through the motions of how to block an opponent's thrust, delivering a commentary as he did so. Even without the passion or extra finesse present in a match of equal men – not that he had ever witnessed Athos' equal – it was still a joy to behold. Despite the fact that only a second before, the tip of that said steel had been pressed to one of their chests, both young men were smiling as Athos sheathed his blade and dismissed them.

The door opened silently, and light footsteps approached the preoccupied Captain. Treville showed no concern, as he was fairly sure who it was. The man came to a stop beside him, and he, too, looked down, taking in the scene below. Both men remained silent as the two new Musketeers went off happily to attend to whatever chore Athos had directed. The man himself was now peering over a piece of paper with Renier and pointing to the forest – ever the strategists. One of the two young men returned, leading Athos' black stallion, and the swordsman mounted up and rode off toward the spot he and the older Musketeer had been discussing.

'He should not be going off on his own,' Treville growled.

'He has no choice, if he feels something needs checking. We are stretched too thin,' Aramis responded simply. He paused for a moment. 'How long do you intend to stay mad at him?' He remained staring out at the diminishing figure, now almost nearing the distant tree line. Treville had turned abruptly, glaring at the young man by his side, and it was only his respect for the marksman – and perhaps a little of his own doubt – that prevented him from issuing a harsh reprimand in response to Aramis' words. Instead, the anger that had threatened to spill over dissipated into a more stubborn denial.

'I am not mad at him, and if I were, it would be because he deserves it.' Almost as soon as they had been spoken, Treville was aware how petulant the words sounded. Aramis finally turned toward his Captain, his handsome face registering a mixture of sadness and concern.

'I see. That must be why he, alone, has not had a duty inside the lodge for two days; why he has overseen the weapons check and the stables, trained the men and done the rotas. I am just glad you are _not_ mad at him.' Aramis turned back to the spot he had last seen Athos. The sky was still dark and a light drizzle had begun to fall; a low mist hovered over the ground, creating shapes and patterns that rose like wraiths, only to vanish into the damp air.

'We try to assist him, Aramis, yet he continues to place himself in harm's way; continues to let _her_ close to him. How can we be of any help if he refuses to accept it?' He ran his hand through his thinning hair, a state of affairs he often blamed Athos for, due to the increased stress the swordsman had brought into Treville's life since his abrupt and dramatic arrival at the garrison.

Aramis sighed. 'I do not profess to understand him, but I believe he is prepared to put himself in harm's way if it provides a means to an end. He believed she could give us information and, despite what we believe, he must still have some faith in her judgement. As to the tunnels… well you know about that.' Aramis continued to stare at his Captain, watching his reaction, and hoping Treville would begin to relent in his punishment of Athos. Tyjr reville listened to the young marksman speak. He often wondered if it was the man's faith that allowed him to view a situation with so broadminded an approach. Aramis noted the softening of his Captain's features and breathed an inward sigh of relief.

'I am beginning to think there is no end to the dark experiences hidden in Athos' past,' the older man groaned. 'When he returns, tell him to rest and resume duties tonight on the lower floor. Then get your own rest so you can watch him.' As the man stalked away, Aramis could not help but smile as he heard the Captain mumble under his breath, 'It comes to something when I have to set guards to watch the guards.' As he left the room he was still muttering, the remainder of his complaint fading away.

Whilst the two men stood debating his indiscretions, the object of their angst was pausing astride his horse, just within the tree line of the dark forest which surrounded the lodge on three sides. Despite Aramis' reservations concerning his friend's treatment over the last two days, Athos could not have been more grateful. Not just because he had been able to avoid his wife, but because he did not have to stand beneath Aramis' intense scrutiny, or Porthos' scowl. Neither of them knew what had occurred in the barn between him and Anne, and that was the way he wanted to keep it. He could hardly believe it himself, and even now his emotions swung from passion to anger, and from horror to sorrow. He did not understand how he had let it happen, and he was no longer sure he trusted his own judgement where his wife was concerned; better to keep out of her clutches. Worse still, though he knew it would be justly deserved, he feared the awful look of disappointment on the faces of those he had come to care for should they discover his betrayal. It was as Athos had long suspected, he was destined never to do right by those he loved.

Water dripped relentlessly from the sodden canopy, even though the leaves had not yet unfurled from their spring cocoon, the cold weather delaying their delicate splendour. Spring had definitely not offered much in the way of encouragement, and many trees and plants still lay dormant, awaiting the warmth that must surely come. Regardless, water still clung to the buds, which in turn were clinging to the spidery branches, occasionally showering the lone rider with icy droplets when they could no longer bear their burden; water that somehow managed to find the opening of his coat and run down his skin like icy fingers stroking his spine.

Renier was a seasoned Musketeer, not subject to nerves or wild imaginings, and he had been convinced there had been movement, a figure perhaps; but Athos wanted to be sure. He knew he probably should have taken another Musketeer, but the truth was they simply did not have enough men. Their departure had been bought forward unexpectedly with a large proportion of the garrison still away on various assignments, and now they were not even in a position to send for reinforcements without risking the King's safety.

Athos sat very still, listening to the slow plop, plop of the dripping rain. The weather had reduced visibility even out in the open. Grey leaden skies and the misty drizzle left the landscape shrouded in an oppressive gloom, and within the trees the situation was worse. A damp smell of rotting foliage hung in the air, the temperature plummeting the instant he had dipped his head to pass beneath the low-lying branches and into the forest, where not even the grey light of day managed to illuminate his way.

Athos was not able to discern much as his eyes focused and his ears adjusted to the quiet after the pounding of his horse's hooves, but he could just make out the distant noise of rushing water. Though the road was still impassable, the water had receded, but the river's flow was still far too fast to risk attempting to cross the ford.

A sudden snapping noise and Athos had his weapon drawn, pistol cocked. Roger snorted and shook his head, protesting at having to endure such depressing weather. The swordsman decided sitting atop his horse was merely inviting trouble, making himself a sitting target, so he slid from his mount and looped the reins over a convenient branch. Treading carefully, he headed further into the trees toward the noise, pistol ready, sword in hand. A movement on his left halted his progress and, as he turned to investigate, a shot rang out. The impact of the bullet spun Athos around and he grabbed hold of the tree next to him for support. Warm liquid ran into his eyes, as pain erupted in his head. Reaching up, he breathed a sigh of relief; though it hurt like the devil and was bleeding profusely, it was only a flesh wound.

Unfortunately, the distraction had been enough. Even with the sodden, leaf-strewn floor, Athos could make out the fading sound of galloping hooves breaking the silence. The swordsman attempted to clear his head. He tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, though he knew he was only making matters worse.

Back at the lodge, the shot had echoed across the empty landscape like an explosion from a cannon. Those on guard had immediately produced their weapons and taken cover, whilst those musketeers in the barn or stable shot to attention and took up a defensive stance near the approach and entrance. Treville would have been proud of his men's reactions had he noticed, but he and Aramis ran down the front steps with only one destination in mind, closely followed by Porthos.

'Was that a shot fired?' barked Treville, as he stared off toward the forest where he had last seen Athos riding.

'Yes, Sir,' came the response. 'From somewhere over there within the trees,' Bisset answered.

'Is Athos back yet?' Aramis asked, the concern evident in his voice.

Porthos interrupted, a scowl marring his features. 'Back from where?'

Bisset ignored him, but responded to the marksman's question.

'No, he went to check out the tree line. Renier thought he saw something, but he was not sure.'

'Get our horses,' Treville ordered, but Porthos stayed his hand.

'E's comin' back, an' upright at least.' They all froze as they studied Roger thundering across the open ground. Their worst fears were laid to rest – he _was _mounted _and_ upright – though Aramis knew that actually proved nothing where Athos was concerned.

As man and horse drew closer, Aramis let out a curse. 'Mon dieu, I knew it!' Though not yet close enough to see clearly, the gory visage of the spectacle riding toward them was still evident. Porthos was muttering to himself, his one-sided conversation swinging from frustration and concern to anger – a situation he experienced far too often. The big man found it hard to forgive Athos when he unnecessarily put his life or safety on the line, his fear and love for his friend often manifesting itself in anger, as it did now.

'What was he doin' goin' alone?' This time it was Treville who answered.

'His job, as always. He knew taking anyone else would leave us vulnerable to attack.'

'Or at least we would only lose one man, not more, if it were an ambush,' added Aramis quietly, his gaze intent on the lone rider, as he ran scenarios through his head, preparing to treat whatever injury presented itself.

Athos could see the welcoming committee as he neared the lodge, his horse slowing its pace a little as he felt his master's grip begin to relax just a fraction. Though the wound was not life-threatening, barring infection of course, it had still caused the man's body to react to the sudden violation. He felt a little dizzy, whilst the cold wind seemed to bite a little deeper and, without warning, he suddenly felt very tired – not a sensation he often acknowledged. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he guessed that the rain and his gloved hand had turned him into a fairly macabre sight. As he pulled Roger to a stop, he prepared himself for the barrage of complaints he knew would be forthcoming.

Treville's presence had not gone unnoticed – it would be the first time Athos had interacted with the Captain since he had been dismissed from the lodge.

Athos jumped down from his mount, staggering slightly when the thumping that had begun in his head turned into an explosion as his booted feet struck the ground. Aramis, as always, was by his side in an instant, and for some reason it irritated Athos. Grunting, he brushed his friend's ministrations aside.

'I am fine, it is a graze, that is all,' the swordsman growled.

'Good, then it will not take but a moment to confirm your self-assessment,' Aramis responded, batting Athos' hand out of the way. 'It is a rather deep scratch, but you will live. That is, of course, assuming you have not wiped any filth into it from your gloves.' The tone of his voice, and the fact he had suggested such an eventuality, were the only signs of his annoyance at Athos' dismissal.

Porthos was not so subtle.

'Thought you were trainin' the young 'uns. What were you doin' ridin' off alone?' Athos raised a brow and began to speak, but Treville cut him off.

'I understand why you did not take more men; we do not have as many Musketeers as I would like but…' he faltered for a second. _L__osing you… one of my best men..._ Though the words went unspoken, they hung in the air, all the more loud for their silence.

Treville gave Athos one last look, then nodded to Aramis. By now, reports of the incident would have reached the King, and Treville had no doubt that as a result the monarch would not be a happy man.

As it turned out, news had spread even faster than the Musketeer Captain could have anticipated. Those incarcerated within the walls of the hunting lodge were as receptive as dry tinder to a spark; the shot had been so loud, it was inevitable that someone within would have heard it, and any doubt would have been instantly dismissed by the reaction of those Musketeers within the building. The soldiers had immediately ushered everyone away from doors and windows, only heightening their susceptibility to any further gossip.

It had not taken long before it was known that a Musketeer had ridden alone to scout the perimeter of the surrounding forest, and Milady had known instantly who that lone soldier had been. It felt as though ever since that first reunion in the alley, she had been able to sense his presence, knowing when he was near or far. She felt his absence now, and she prayed it was not permanent.

She had entered that stable determined to slake her burning revenge once and for all, and how that rage had turned so swiftly into something else entirely, she had no idea. Part of her anger with Athos had always stemmed from the invisible power he had over her. Damn the man, he had no idea how a brooding look, or a flash from those green eyes, could sway her resolve. He did not prance or swagger to get a woman's attention; just the opposite – he was happy to avoid their attention completely, which made them want him all the more.

It seemed every woman yearned to heal a broken, damaged man – especially a handsome one. She had never thought of him as such when she had met him, though there had always been a darkness within him even then, but she knew she had been the one to finally break him completely.

She tried to tell herself she regretted what they had done inside that barn, tried to believe that for her it had merely been a cruel form of punishment. The look on his face as she had left told her he was beyond mere pain, and she should have been glad. However, the reality was she had wanted him as badly as she ever had, maybe even more. There had been a desperation to the act, a joining that had nothing to do with love or tenderness, just a powerful need, as though each were trying to consume the other – as if they had both understood this would be the very last time. A warped and powerful goodbye, as vicious and painful as any thrust of a knife.

Worst of all, she now felt nothing but emptiness, as though she had become a hollow purposeless shell. All the fire that had burned deep in her belly had been extinguished; the revenge that had warmed her nights and illuminated her days was no more.

Milady had been terrified that when she saw Athos again she would continue to experience that same lack of feeling, and she finally understood that such a loss would be as painful to her as killing him – that was until she had heard that shot!

No matter how often you imagine death, or your reaction to loss, nothing prepares you for the gut-wrenching terror of dealing with the reality – the sudden finality of a person's absence for ever. That sick feeling roiled in her stomach now as she fidgeted idly with the book lying in her lap.

'You are quite white, Anne. Are you well?' Suzanne asked. Though the woman's lovely face attempted a modicum of concern, her eyes were empty of emotion. 'Are you worried it might be our brooding Musketeer? I should not worry, I am sure he is _more_ than experienced enough to handle _any_ situation.'

The intention behind her words was quite clear, and Milady was tempted to give the spiteful cat a detailed description of just how _experienced _Athos was. Luckily, the Musketeer Captain entered at that moment, heading toward the King's private rooms.

Suzanne wasted no time.

'Captain Treville, do tell us, were any of your brave men injured?' Treville was about to reassure her, when he noted the green, cat eyes of Milady hanging onto his every word and, before he could stop himself, he spat out words he would not otherwise have uttered. He wanted to hurt her – if it were at all possible, and for reasons he could not have put into words, he knew his response would hit home. A woman needed to care about a man to put as much effort into hurting him as she did.

'Athos was shot!' was all he said, then continued toward the King's rooms, leaving the ladies open-mouthed.

Both Milady and Suzanne eyed each other. Milady would have gained a great deal of satisfaction from the horrified expression on the courtier's face, but she was too shocked herself to notice, or care.

The Musketeers had relaxed slightly, and Milady was not prevented from approaching the window; she strode across the room, making no effort to hide her determination. She studied the comings and goings below, searching each man as he emerged from the barn or outbuildings, instantly dismissing them one by one. She noted Porthos and her breathing increased, where there was one, there were usually three. Her gaze found Aramis, and then her eyes rested on the figure at his side. The straightness of his spine and the determined swagger of his walk was all she needed, the bandage around his head simply confirmation.

Athos was alive!

Had she stopped to analyse her reaction, she would have been delighted to realise her feelings were still as passionate as ever, not empty and cold as she had feared; but she did not consider them. She had spotted an opportunity for another form of revenge, only this time Athos was not the target.

She turned toward her rival, a devilish smile upon her beautiful face – no need to waste an opportunity.

Athos had allowed Aramis to fuss over the scratch for, despite his ever-deteriorating mood, he had experienced the pain of infection too many times before and so, for once, had let sense overrule his innate stubbornness. Now bandaged and morose, head thumping with every step he took, the swordsman accompanied his friends to a quiet corner of the barn, where a section had been screened off away from windows, so that Musketeers could get some rest away from the bustle of activity during the day.

'Drink this, I know you have a headache,' Aramis directed, holding out a flask of liquid.

'I do not need anything. I am fine, as you can see,' Athos growled, glaring at the flask as though it held poison.

'You have just been shot in the head, and the only reason you have a scratch, rather than having had your brains blown apart, is because you are so thick-headed. I _know_ you have a headache, so drink this for _our_ sake, if not your own.' Aramis thrust the flask toward Athos once more, and Porthos stood up, indicating he would brook no argument, his expression clearly saying _drink it or I will pour it down your stubborn throat. _

Athos took the flask and sipped from it, all the time glowering over the rim at the two men making sure he complied. However, it did not taste as foul as some of Aramis' medicines; and he ought to know, he had tasted enough of them.

'It could be worse,' he reluctantly admitted, his mood lightening just a little. Aramis grinned, sensing his friend beginning to unbend, his shoulders relaxed at last.

'It will help _you_ sleep, then _we_ can sleep. Tonight Treville wants us all on duty inside the lodge.' He noted the look of surprise from Athos, but merely smiled at his friend's disbelief.

Porthos bought them back to the matter in hand.

'Did you see anythin'? Anybody?' His face bore a look of intensity, and Athos snapped back to attention as he considered the question.

'No, there was no time. It was dark inside the trees and I had just decided to dismount to make myself less of a target when the shot was fired. I heard the sound of hooves but nothing else. I am surprised they did not find me and finish me off, but for some reason they obviously did not want a fight.' They all considered the strange behaviour of whoever shot Athos, but they could not come up with a satisfactory explanation as to why they would leave a wounded Musketeer alive.

oOo

'You did what?' roared the man by the fire. Standing to full height, he took a single step toward the older man who had just entered the room.

'I couldn't see in the dark, 'e just looked like a soldier, I thought one less would 'elp.'

The man looked incredulous, as the nervous speaker shuffled beneath his scrutiny. 'Though I doubt that very much, _nobody_ shoots _anybody_, IS THAT CLEAR?' His words rang out loud enough for the rest of the men assembled outside the building to hear them quite clearly.

The man scuttled away, considering he had got off fairly lightly, and just two men were left in the room. The lighting was low, only the flickering flames from the fire and a single candle illuminating the space, and one could be forgiven for thinking it was night, so dark was the gloom from the weather outside.

'The men are getting restless, they cannot understand why we do not make a move. We could get inside the lodge by using the tunnels; they obviously do not know of their existence or they would have investigated. We could end this tonight.' The man who spoke was dressed well, but the scarring on his face meant most people would turn away rather than look at him straight on; a situation which stirred the resentment and fury that burned away inside him, just as fiercely as the fire that had marred his features.

The other man stood staring into the glow of the flames. His clothes were a little finer, but bore signs of poor upkeep. His hair was a little too long, and the expression on his face was no less intense than that of his colleague, but held a colder, more ruthless quality.

'No! If we were to be spotted we would be caught like rats in a trap. We need to take them in the open. We just require this damn rain to stop and for them to continue with their journey. Then we can both get what we desire and end this for good.'


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The Musketeers slept well for the few hours remaining before they were due to relieve the men on duty inside the lodge. Athos had tossed and turned for a short while, whilst Aramis braced himself, ready in case he should be needed. However, the medicine did what was required of it and the swordsman fell into a deep and untroubled sleep, allowing the medic to relax and get the rest he needed.

Athos awoke suddenly to an odd silence. It was not the middle of the night; it was not quiet enough for that. It was as if someone had muted the normal noise of the day – apart from the loud snoring from the bunk next to his. Realisation hit and he allowed a twitch of his lips, realising the invasive racket was, of course, Porthos. Darkness had barely descended, people were still going about their range of tasks outside, yet the three men were ensconced in the furthest part of the barn, allowing them to sleep undisturbed. Athos swung his legs over the edge of the bed as a dull ache began behind his eyes, reminding him why he had been lying down in the first place. He reached for the wound above his eye and winced. It could have been much worse; it could have been fatal. As he pulled on his boots, Aramis and Porthos began to stir.

'Is it mornin'?' grumbled Porthos, running his hands though his thick curls.

Aramis chuckled. 'Afraid not, mon ami. It is more like evening; darkness still comes early at this time of year.' He slapped his friend on the shoulder, splashing cold water over his face and raking his fingers through his long hair.

'Early? It never bloody goes away,' Porthos complained. 'It ain't even light when it's daytime.' He scowled at the laughing Musketeer, before remembering Athos, and he turned to address the silent man.

'Ow's yer 'ead?' Athos raised a brow, but frowned when he realised it hurt, but so did frowning. Porthos began to laugh. 'Ha, looks like our friend is going to 'ave to change 'is ways. Looks like cynical and moody ain't goin' to work for 'im just at the moment!' He continued to laugh and, despite the discomfort, Athos tried his best to smoulder. Aramis took a moment to work out what the big man was talking about and then he, too, began to chuckle. He put his arm around Athos' shoulders and attempted to look sympathetic, but the swordsman shrugged the arm away.

'Never mind, perhaps this is the perfect moment to try smiling a little more.' Despite the wincing pain, the remark earned him a fierce glare from an annoyed Athos. Porthos merely guffawed all the more at his friend's irritation.

'Are we not required to be elsewhere?' Athos growled, turning to walk away. Aramis, though, was much quicker, neatly blocking his escape.

'Not so quick, my friend, let me just check that _scratch_ before we leave. After all, we do not want it to become infected.' He knew Athos had had enough experience of wounds to hesitate slightly at the remark; just long enough for the medic to whip away the bandage and examine the flesh wound.

'Excellent, we will leave it to the air now, it is healing nicely. You will soon have more scars than a seasoned pauldron.' As the words came out of his mouth Aramis wished he could have taken them back. Both he and Porthos could not help but look to the empty spot where a Musketeer's pauldron would sit – had the King seen fit to grant Athos one. Porthos shuffled slightly but Athos' face showed no reaction, just giving an almost imperceptible huff, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the barn. Aramis turned to Porthos with a look of sorrow. Porthos sensed his friend's regret and shook his head.

'Don't worry, 'e won't take it amiss, it ain't your fault the King is an ass.' Aramis looked at Porthos with surprise.

'Better not let the Red Guard hear you say that.' Porthos grinned, as though the thought almost appealed to him. 'And do not get that look in your eye, we do not have enough men for you to put any out of commission.' Porthos chuckled, but strode on after Athos.

Outside, the air was milder than it had been of late; the floor was still wet underfoot, but it did not look as if there had been much further rainfall. Above, the sky was clear, and the first sight of the moon was bright and unhindered by cloud. A good sign – perhaps the weather was beginning to turn.

Athos entered the lodge and was forced to acknowledge that his feelings were mixed. He could not deny it was much warmer and more comfortable than the draughty barn, but still he suspected that for him there was as much danger within the confines of the building as without, and he would far rather face a horde of unknown adversaries than the foe that dwelt beneath this roof. Bullets and swords held less harm than perfume and velvet; the latter could do so much more damage.

The staff had at last settled down for the night and, having checked all doors and windows were secure, the three men eventually also settled down to the long night ahead. If Athos noticed the other two men manipulate him to remain on the lower floors, he showed no sign. Aramis was about to descend from the level that housed most of the bedrooms, when the sound of rustling silk halted his step. Turning cautiously, he saw Milady de Winter standing beneath the light of the flickering candles. Her skin seemed to glow with an unearthly quality, her coal black hair glinting as the dancing flame played upon her curls.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aramis could not deny she was a very beautiful woman, but there was something about her that put him on edge. Was it the fact that he knew she was not what she seemed? Or was it something more primeval, some inner sense, that told him she was dangerous?

'Milady.' He bowed graciously. 'Was there something you needed?' She began to walk toward him, slowly and deliberately, her cat-like eyes narrowing as she smiled.

'I could not sleep and thought I would take a walk; maybe choose a book from the library. Perhaps you would accompany me?' She was now level with the marksman, and he inhaled the sweet smell of jasmine. He wondered if he would ever smell the fragrance again without it causing him the urge to shudder.

'I am afraid I must insist you return to your room, Madame. Though the lodge has been secured for the night, with so many secret ways within these walls it is inadvisable to roam the building at night, just in case there is yet another undiscovered way into the building.' The comment would surely have sent any of the other women scurrying back to the safety of her apartment without further ado, but not her.

Instead of turning and bidding him goodnight, she slipped her arm through his and looked at him from beneath her lashes. 'Surely I am safe with a Musketeer to guard me?' she purred. Aramis had the feeling that, despite his caution, he was being sucked into her game.

'I think not, Milady, but I _will_ escort you back to your room.' She pulled her arm from his and the smile died upon her full lips. Aramis almost expected her to arch her back and hiss, but for now she chose to withdraw her claws and adopted an air of nonchalance.

'That will not be necessary. I feel suddenly fatigued, it must be the company. I thank you, Monsieur Aramis, and bid you goodnight.' Leaving the marksman momentarily stunned, she tossed her hair over her smooth white shoulder and turned, walking slowly along the corridor, hips swaying as she went. She paused as she reached her door, but did not look back; she had no need, she knew he still watched as she closed the door behind her – they always did.

Aramis indeed watched the woman retreat inside her room, before letting out the breath he had been holding. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he walked toward the staircase. Oddly, his thoughts echoed those of his friend; that woman was deadly, and he still had no idea what her game was. However, whatever it was, she would have to get past him and Porthos before she got anywhere near Athos again – providing, of course, he did not invite her.

The rest of the night passed without incident. The men checked and double-checked the myriad of unused rooms and passageways, testing windows for loose or tampered latches, but discovered nothing. Dawn began to rise over the landscape, pink and golden hues running like rainbow waves on the horizon, and mist hovering above the wet ground – it promised to be a grand day, and indeed it was.

For two further days, the sun shone brightly, and the mood inside the lodge began to lift as thoughts of freedom flickered to life within the gilded prison. Each day, Athos, Aramis and Porthos rode out to check the rapidly diminishing flood; no more talk of not having enough men to allow a lone rider to survey the area alone. So it was, on the third day after the shooting, Athos and the two Musketeers sat on their horses and studied the swift-flowing river as it gurgled and jostled over the debris left behind by the flood.

'Can we pass, do ya think?' Porthos asked, watching the brown water as it tossed out more broken branches and saplings, victims of the water's wrath.

'It is possible, though another day would be better still,' Athos answered, as he dropped down from his horse. He walked out into the uninviting water testing the depth and, though he could not go far without filling his boots with water from the muddy river, it was obvious a horse and carriage would have no difficulty. 'As long as it does not decide to throw a tree or carcass at us as we cross, it is possible. Instinct tells me it is time we moved on.' The other two nodded, though Aramis continued to stare upstream, as if he half expected to see a oak or dead cow suddenly come hurtling toward them. 'We had better return and let Treville make a decision.' Athos remounted, and the three men galloped back the way they had come. Unobserved, a small child, who had been hidden in the undergrowth, scurried off to the hut in the woods where the _ugly codger_ was staying – the one who was paying him to keep watch over the ford.

The day was wearing on; they had not ridden out to check the river's flow until they had rested from their nightly watch. Treville had kept them on night duty hoping that it would keep his errant, would-be Musketeer out of trouble. So far, his ploy had been highly successful. Since the first night, there had been no further sightings of Milady de Winter, allowing Athos to relax – or at least, as much as he ever did.

They rode in companiable silence across the open space surrounding the lodge. The sky was golden after another lovely, spring day; the air had been warm and even the leaves on the trees appeared to have unfurled beneath its delayed caress. The three men slid from their mounts and handed them over to the stable lad.

'Treville will be glad of our news. 'E's goin' stir crazy stuck in 'ere with 'is Majesty and all 'is moanin'.' Porthos grinned widely; the warmth of the sun and the idea of leaving at last had put him in good humour. Aramis readily nodded in agreement. Servants were scurrying to and fro – the change in the weather had bought about rumours of the King's imminent departure and, to be honest, the staff would not be sad to see him go. The Musketeers hurried up the grand staircase and along the ornate corridors. Not so long ago, these same passageways had appeared dark and brooding, but now light streamed through the long, graceful windows, making the gold paint-work glow like the dying sun that was now sinking in the sky.

A young woman in the garb of a serving girl hurried toward them. Her eyes were red and, as she became aware of the three men, she hung her head and tried hard to melt into the wall.

'Don't worry, my lovely, we don't bite,' Porthos chortled as the girl scurried away and down the stairs. Athos frowned and looked over his shoulder. She had not been wearing the clothing of the upstairs staff; she looked as though she belonged in the kitchens. He dismissed thoughts of the girl, aware Aramis was muttering something about the hard life of serving staff, especially ones attached to the royal household; though he was not really listening. They reached the end of the corridor and entered the apartments set aside for the King and his immediate entourage and, as Athos and the two Musketeers bowed low to his Majesty, everything happened at once.

A figure rushed to the centre of the space dropping the silver tray he had been bearing; he was yelling, but the three men were not listening to his frantic ranting. Athos leapt forward, blocking his access to the shocked and fozen King, drawing his sword as he did so. Aramis, not quite sure what was happening, headed for the royal couple, leaving Porthos to employ his large frame to block the doorway, in case any more trouble erupted through it. The young man in the livery of a footman was screaming something but, over the clashing of steel, it was still not clear what. He was no match for Athos, and the skirmish was brief. The servant lay on the floor of the room clutching a hand to his shoulder as blood seeped out upon the expensive carpet. There was a strange silence, then suddenly everyone moved and began talking at the same time.

'Get the King out of here!' Treville shouted to Aramis as he and Athos yanked the now sobbing man to his feet. 'Porthos, nobody comes in or out of this room without my say-so.' The big musketeer gave a curt nod and stood beside the door like a watchful colossus. When the room had been emptied of everyone else, only the silent Porthos, Treville, Athos, and the young man they held in grip remained.

'What the bloody hell was that about?' Treville growled, turning to Athos. 'Did you know?' He looked angry, and ready to knock the swordsman's head from his shoulders, should he discover that Athos had been holding something back. Porthos took a step forward, and though the look on his face suggested he was ready to leap to Athos' defence should he need it, a glare from his Captain halted any further movement.

'I had no idea,' Athos responded, looking Treville in the eye. His face registered a flicker of disappointment at the Captain's accusation, but it vanished as quickly as it had flared. 'I saw a girl in the corridor, not dressed as an upstairs maid. She was upset and frightened and I was wary.' He held the older man's gaze and Treville nodded, relaxing his features just a little. He turned to Porthos, 'Fetch the girl.' The Musketeer slipped through the doorway with an unexpected grace – a man who was constantly underestimated, though not by those who knew him well.

'Don't hurt Gemma, she had nothing to do with this, no one else is involved, she tried to stop me, that's why she was crying. It was all my idea. I thought you would soon be leaving, and I would not get another chance.' The words all tumbled out together, leaving the youth to fall into a faint, as emotion and blood loss finally got the better of him. Luckily, Aramis arrived just at that moment, along with several Musketeers who had been sent by Porthos, just in case they were needed. Treville handed the assailant over to them, with Aramis leaving to attend to his wound. No matter what a man's crime, the medic would not see him suffer.

'What a bloody mess,' Treville muttered, just as the Cardinal flounced into the room. The Musketeer Captain rolled his eyes – the First Minister's gloating was the last thing he needed right now.

'Ah, Treville, the King awaits your attention. He is a little _put out_, but then I cannot blame him. An attack from one of the staff right under your nose – tut tut, Treville, you must be losing your touch.' The Cardinal's smirk was almost too much for Treville's patience to stand. Athos twitched beside him and the Captain reached out to stay the young man's hand; any retaliation against Richelieu was exactly what the slimy, treacherous bastard wanted. No, he would take his dressing down from the King and hope that at least it would be short.

He entered the monarch's room with his head held high, aware Athos was a step behind him. He had not told him to accompany him, but he had to admit that for once he was glad of the support. Both men bowed low before the King, and stood silently awaiting the berating that was surely forthcoming. Louis was sitting unusually still, his chin rested on his hand as he leant on the arm of his chair, Anne standing just to his side.

'So, Captain, what have you got to say for yourself? Who was that maniac and where did he come from? Was he really wearing a livery of my household?' The King's voice had risen in pitch with each query he had put to his Musketeer Captain and, for a moment, Treville was not sure which question to answer first.

Treville bowed his head before he spoke. 'Your Majesty, it appears the young man was acting alone. We do not know what drove him to take such action, but I can assure you we perceive the threat to be over.' He hoped he sounded more sincere than he felt, but there had certainly been something about the sudden attack and the young man's demeanour that suggested this was a lone complaint and not the result of anything more complex.

'So, this man has been under my roof for all this time, and nobody suspected him of anything? Murdering, and God knows what else he has been up to. We could all have been slaughtered in our beds.' The King stood abruptly and walked toward the penitent Captain. 'We leave tomorrow, I hope I never lay eyes on this place again. We go straight to Rambouilet…' He paused once before he left and gave Athos the merest of acknowledgment; a surprise, just a small token in response to the man's quick reaction. The Queen gave the two men the briefest of smiles, though she, too, looked a trifle disappointed.

Treville breathed deeply and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, grateful he had been let off so lightly. Unfortunately, Richelieu was not finished.

'Tomorrow, the Red Guard will lead the travelling party. They will be responsible for the King's carriage and his personal safety. Do not bother to argue Treville. You have had more than enough time to realise we had a traitor under our roof, and yet you let him get within a hairsbreadth of the King.' He gave Athos a grudging nod. 'And it was not even one of your Musketeers who bought him down. No, do not bother to argue.' And before Treville had even opened him mouth to disagree, the First Minister had flounced from the room.

Treville bought his fist down hard upon a small side table, sending its contents flying to the floor. Athos took a step back and waited for the Captain to erupt.

'I would not be surprised to discover he has been encouraging the young man's sedition on purpose to furnish just such a change in plans. The Red Guard are a mockery – peacocks pretending to be soldiers. Summon the men, it is time to make our plans.' With that, Treville turned on his heel and left the room. As Athos made to follow, a voice halted his step.

'So, Monsieur Athos, it seems I should thank you. God alone knows what terror that misguided man had in mind for us.' Suzanne came drifting into the room, her honeyed hair shining golden, caught in the final rays of the afternoon light.

'I can assure you, Madame, I doubt you were in any danger. As you say, he was simply misguided, and it is doubtful he meant you any harm,' Athos drawled, impatient to carry out Treville's orders. Suzanne continued to walk toward him until she stopped with hardly a handspan between them.

'Still, it is so very reassuring to know we can rely on your bravery to keep us safe,' she purred, reaching out and placing a hand over his heart. Without turning her head, the woman sensed movement from the room behind her and, before Athos could respond, she stood on her toes, curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him toward her, placing a warm and enthusiastic kiss on his lips.

'My lady, the Queen is asking after you.' The scathing statement was delivered in sugared tones, but its intention was clear. Suzanne reluctantly pulled away and sighed with disappointment. Looking up at Athos, she gave him a wanton smile and, whilst he remained impassive, the owner of the voice was not lost on either of them. She stroked his cheek and turned slowly away. Athos delayed no longer, not waiting to see what transpired. Let them tear each other to pieces, he had his orders.

Milady stood on the far side of the room but, even from there, it seemed as though sparks darted from her very being, so furious was her expression.

'Are you sure, Milady, I thought she was taking her rest?' Suzanne murmured, as she walked toward her adversary.

'Quite sure,' was the curt reply, as both women stood face-to-face. 'It is not wise to be alone in the building. Who knows what _other_ dangers are lurking in the shadows,' Milady whispered, venom dripping from her red lips.

'Oh, I do not believe I was in any danger. Quite the opposite, I believe I was in the safest place in the lodge. Such strong arms, yet such soft lips. When we arrive at Rambouillet I shall know just where to go to ensure my safety. As you say, the nights can be long and fraught with danger, and who knows what else.' She pushed past the seething woman and smirked at her small victory.

'Carry on,' muttered Milady. 'Enjoy the moment; I think it is about time to ensure it is your last.'


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Milady stood with her back to the closed doorway, her breathing coming fast and furious. Suzanne d'Angou had gone too far, and even the somewhat surprised look on Athos' face, had not cooled her anger. The woman was a menace, and soon – very soon – she would regret that kiss.

Regaining her composure, she returned to the quiet isolation of her room, or so she thought. Just as she closed the door and finally let go the breath she had been holding, there came a scratching at the door.

She faced the somewhat anxious footman with annoyance – until she noted that he was tall, lean, and fairly handsome. Still seething from her rival's earlier liberties, she invited the young man inside, whereupon he handed her a note, folded and sealed. She did not need to open the missive to know whom it was from. She had received enough of them demanding her presence to understand its significance, and it riled her all the more.

Purring at the young man standing before her, she caressed his knuckles as she took the note, taking her time to secrete it inside the bodice of her gown, making sure he watched her every move.

Milady tilted her head and offered up her most feline smile. 'I have not seen you before.' The young man, guessing her intentions and having an eye to make something of himself in the world, smiled back down at her; making no secret of his interest, as he appraised her slowly, from head to toe.

'No my lady, I have not been assigned to this staircase before, but I think I will enjoy the new challenge.' Brazen, to say the least, but it was all the encouragement she needed. Standing on her toes, she reached up and pulled him closer, stroking his pale skin as she pressed her lips to his. The young man required no further encouragement and greeted her manoeuvre with enthusiasm; so it was with some surprise that he suddenly found himself propelled across the room.

'Get out!' Milady yelled, her eyes flashing with anger, and something the young man failed to recognise – disappointment. Fearing she would accuse him of something that would cost him his life, he wasted no time arguing, but simply fled. She watched him run from the room, but gained no satisfaction from his departure, or the game she had orchestrated – this time she had played and lost. Oh lord, would _that_ man never leave her be? Would every set of lips she ever kissed be compared to his, every caress, every touch, every look of arousal?

ooOoo

Athos had been glad to leave the room. Any other man would not have been surprised by the woman's behaviour; after all she had made her interest perfectly clear. But Athos was not any other man, and he never stopped to consider his attraction to women. Only one woman had ever captured his attention and his heart, and the experience would haunt him forever. Still, he was a man, and only human, and the swordsman had to acknowledge that Suzanne was a very attractive woman – perhaps in another time and another place, he may even have allowed himself to enjoy it, but this was neither. He was simply glad to avoid the inevitable scene; he did not like to think how his wife would react to the tableau she had walked in upon.

Pushing thoughts of both woman to the back of his mind, he continued along the corridors toward the main entrance, assuming he would find his friends questioning the errant footman. Outside was a hive of industry; even a small party of Musketeers were carrying a large amount of weaponry and the necessary items required for a such a journey such as this. Added to that, was the ridiculous amount of baggage and frippery the King insisted on bringing with him, most of which would never be used.

Musketeers, footmen, ostlers and even Red Guard, hurried back and forth, each with a job to do, and all with the same goal: to put a great deal of distance between themselves and the hunting lodge. The sooner they were organised, the sooner they could leave.

Athos headed for the large barn, from which most of the Musketeers' belongings would by now have been removed and stowed away, leaving it empty. Renier and Ducas stood by the entrance, their demeanour making it clear that nobody was getting past them. They acknowledged Athos' arrival, standing aside to allow him to pass. The barn's interior was dark after the glare of the late afternoon sunshine outside, and Athos had to blink to adjust his focus. The young miscreant was sat in the middle of the structure sitting on a wooden chair, surrounded by Treville, Porthos and Aramis. His wound had been dressed, but he still looked an unearthly shade of pale, and terrified. Treville gave Athos' arrival a cursory glance, but Aramis smiled broadly.

'Excellent timing my friend, this young man was just about to explain his earlier actions, and I am afraid Porthos was beginning to get a little frisky.' He leant a little closer to Athos and pretended to whisper, though his words were quite easy for all to hear.

'You know how he gets with traitors. Remember what he did to the last one? _Messy_.' Aramis kept a straight face, though his manner suggested he was worried. Porthos played along and moved a little closer to the mortified footman, who shook with sheer terror as the Musketeer towered over him. Athos gave nothing away, but drew his dagger slowly from his belt, the metal of the blade singing in the silence. Gazing at it with sudden interest the swordsman drew his finger carefully along the honed edge, as he too, stepped closer to the shivering footman.

'Porthos does have a point,' Athos drawled. 'This man did attempt to kill the King of France. It would be a kindness just to end it here and now.' He let the golden light from the high windows flash upon the deadly blade, and pretended to consider its weight, as though assessing its suitability for the task he had in mind.

'Of course, there is that,' Aramis considered. 'His punishment will not be nearly as quick as your blade. Hanging – perhaps even quartering.' Aramis shivered dramatically. 'Not pleasant ways to die but, as you rightly pointed out, he did try to kill our King.'

Now beyond fear, the young man hung his head and began to openly weep. Nobody said a word. Treville had let his men do what they did so well, and merely tried to give nothing away by his expression. As usual, their antics had the desired effect, and the prisoner was ready to confess all. Time for the Captain to intervene.

'What is your name?' he growled. 'Tell us all you know and perhaps I can persuade my men to let you live. But I must warn you, they take their role as protector of the King very seriously, and a prisoner on such a journey would only be in their way…' He let the implication of his words hang in the air. As the young man took in every move, Athos deftly tossed his dagger into the air, catching it with casual delight as it descended, before pointing it at the footman. It was the last straw.

'Gemma,' he gasped. 'You have not hurt her? She knew nothing of my intentions, she merely suspected I was going to approach the King, to plead with him on our behalf. She had no idea; you must believe me,' he beseeched Treville and the three men, with wide, desperate eyes.

'As it happens, we do.' Treville said quietly, though his voice still dripped with menace. 'She is well, and I am prepared to accept she had no part in your actions. No harm will come to her.' The young man finally lost any remaining resistance and slumped back in the chair.

'My name is Moray, Henri Moray. I have worked at the lodge for the past year. Gemma and I…' He hesitated and licked his lips. '… we wished to marry, but the King forbids his servants to form alliances, meaning one of us would have been forced to find work elsewhere. You can see how far we are from anywhere.' His voice took on a pleading tone. 'We would never have found other work and been able to stay together. We would either have had to leave together, or remain apart.

'Then the King arrived, with his oh so proper guests. Only they are not so proper at night, coming and going from each other's rooms. Yet Gemma and I could not do the right thing and marry under the same roof. It was wrong.' His face clouded and the anger was clear. Then he lowered his gaze and resumed his tale.

'One night I was visiting my parents, not too far away, drinking in the local inn. There was a party of men in there, and one in particular appeared to take a particular interest in the conversation I was having with an old friend. When my friend left, the stranger asked if he could take his seat.' The boy looked somewhat guilty. 'I suppose I had drunk more than was sensible, and I soon found myself telling the stranger about my problem. He, too, thought it unreasonable, and encouraged me to speak up for myself in front of the King. He bought me more ale, and then talk of me petitioning the King turned to talk of darker deeds. He convinced me I would be doing the nation a favour by ridding them of a King with such dubious morals, and one who could make such outrageous demands of those who worked hard to provide him with his every desire.' The boy looked thoughtful, then gazed at Aramis as though suspecting he may be the sole voice of reason amongst the company.

'It is obvious now that I was being used, and encouraged to act in a way I would never have considered myself. If I had never seen him again, I am sure the idea would have faded, and I would have seen the insanity behind it. However, when I rode away from our farm the next morning, the man fell in beside me as I neared the lodge. He bought up the conversation again, but this time he said he had been thinking, and perhaps the King had designs upon Gemma for himself. After all, he was the King, and he could do whatever he wanted with her. On hearing that, I lost all sense of reason and… well you saw what happened when I arrived. I am sorry, so sorry, I….' At this, he hung his head in his hands and sobbed.

Treville straightened his shoulders and looked toward his men. 'Well, that explanation seems to ring true. I think it is unlikely the boy is behind the rest of the troubles we have experienced.'

Abruptly, the boy lifted his head, interrupting his rocking motion, his red-rimmed eyes desperately searching each face. 'No, no, I have done nothing else, I swear. I did not touch the lady who was killed, I had no reason to hurt her. It was just this, only this, that I have been stupid enough to attempt.' He appeared appeased by their reaction, and returned to the rhythmic rocking movement in an attempt to comfort himself.

They were about to move away when Athos stopped, his expression thoughtful. The boy heard his booted feet approach and flinched. 'I mean you no harm, just tell me the truth, and you will not be hurt – at least not by me.' The swordsman raised a brow at the boy, who in turn nodded in understanding; his fate was pretty much sealed – just not here and now. Athos continued: 'Describe the man who talked you into this.' He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, just in case the lad was unsure whether or not to co-operate.

Having given it very little thought, the boy spoke. 'I would know him anywhere, his face was… well it was horrible, even though he tried to keep it covered. It was hot in the tavern, but he still had a scarf wrapped around most of his head. But every now and then, when he thought nobody was looking, he would unwind it and mop his brow. It was red and puckered, shiny like, horrible.' He looked wide-eyed at Athos in the hope he had said the right thing. He had still not forgotten the way the man had handled the blade.

Athos closed his eyes for an instant and nodded his head. He turned slowly, looking at Aramis and Porthos. 'Does that ring any bells?' Both men looked appalled, and shaking their heads they remained mute in their shared disbelief.

Treville scowled. 'What am I missing, gentlemen?' he asked, his voice thick with impatience. It was Athos who answered.

'I know of a man who would answer to that description. I certainly did not expect to encounter him here, but his resentment is deep and may even have degenerated into madness.' Again, he eyed his two friends, all of them reliving the moment when Athos had lain injured in the infirmary, at the mercy of the man who fitted the footman's description.

Aramis spoke, his voice quiet but deadly. 'Bisset.' Porthos growled with enough menace to make the man rocking on the chair behind them sit upright and stare with terror.

'That bastard. I would 'ave thought he knew when 'e was beat.' The big Musketeer cracked his knuckles, gripping his sword hilt with a snarl.

'Bisset? The man with the burns who attacked you in the garrison? What is he doing here, and do you mean to say he wishes to kill the King?' Treville looked totally bemused, as though an already complex situation was now becoming absurd.

It was Athos who answered, his face having taken on the look that usually accompanied some deep thought process or strategy. 'I cannot believe that all of this had been aimed at simply gaining revenge on me, for whatever wrongs he believes I have visited upon him. It _is_ possible it was he who entered the château. Unfortunately, he entered the wrong room; her ladyship's room was, in fact, directly above the room allocated for the use of Musketeers stationed in the lodge. I suspect they fled realising their mistake. However, it was obviously not he who attacked Aramis and I when we checked the river, and I doubt he would have allowed anyone else to have the satisfaction of killing me; which perhaps explains why I was not killed when I entered the wood.' He looked toward the others to gauge their reactions.

Porthos looked puzzled. 'But why would 'e encourage the boy to kill the King?' Athos looked up, 'None of this makes perfect sense, but I believe he, or they, are trying to force us to flee the lodge. They obviously believe they can achieve their goal, whatever it may be, if we are once more on the road. I think that is why the boy was goaded into action, and I doubt they believed for one moment he would succeed. But on top of everything else, it would be sufficient for us to decide enough was enough and leave.' The others looked upon Athos with horror.

Treville ran his hand though his hair. 'Marvellous, now we are going to be sitting ducks for whoever it is who is waiting out there for us. I will approach the King and suggest we leave the women and courtiers here. At least with only His Majesty and the Cardinal to worry about, we will strengthen our advantage.' He made to move, but Athos placed his hand on the Captain's shoulder.

'I would not recommend such an action. Once the women and men of the court are left here, they will be unprotected, even if we were to leave a token number of Red Guard to stay behind. If the Queen were to be taken, she could be used as leverage for any plot they may have in mind.' He held Treville's gaze and waited.

'Walk with me,' Treville ordered. 'Aramis, Porthos, take the boy and secure him in the lodge. I will decide what to do with him when all this is over. Then make doubly sure we will be ready to leave first thing in the morning.' With that, he stalked away with Athos striding alongside him.

'What are you not telling me?' the Captain barked.

Athos remained silent for a minute. 'I do not believe this is simply a matter of personal revenge toward me. Bisset could easily pick me off in Paris, or from a dozen places, without going to the trouble of choosing this journey when he knows there will be Musketeers around me protecting the King.'

'Go on,' Treville urged.

'I do not believe Bissett is acting alone, but who he is working with, or why, I do not know.' Treville nodded thoughtfully.

'Could this be some sort of double plot? Gaston again?' the Captain asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.

'It does not feel like Gaston, though I would have liked to know he was nowhere near Paris when we left. I do not cherish the thought of him hovering anywhere near the throne should trouble befall the King.'

Treville looked appalled. 'I think it is time we had a chat with the First Minister.' He gave a sly smile and Athos smirked in return.

ooOoo

Daylight had long fallen beneath the velvety blanket of night as Treville and Athos ran up the steps to the lodge. Athos looked over his shoulder, pausing for a minute as he searched the blackness stretching out across the open space. The stars were winking in the sky, no clouds to obliterate their display. It would be a cold start in the morning if it stayed clear; the ground would be hard going on the horses, but firm for the coaches, provided the boggy ground did not freeze into deep ruts.

The hairs prickled slightly on Athos' neck, and he realised he had been aware of silent watchers ever since they had stopped to water the horses on the day of their departure. At least now he was able to put a name to one of the faces that waited out there in the darkness.

Treville stalked along the corridor, making already hurrying servants move even quicker to get out of his way. It was not in his nature to intimidate the lower orders, but at this moment he was not in the mood to be reasonable.

He reached the door to the Cardinal's apartment and knocked loudly. Richelieu answered the door with a somewhat perplexed look upon his face. 'What is it now Treville? Has one of the cooks run amuck with a cleaver, or perhaps the ostler is threatening the King with a branding iron?' He sneered with amusement as the Captain clenched his jaw and silently accepted the reminder of his failings to protect the King.

Treville straightened his shoulders and spoke merely loud enough for the Cardinal to hear. 'Enough of your posturing, we do not have time. We need to talk, and I do not want you to waste my time with your plotting, lies, and subterfuge.' Treville pushed his way into the room and Athos followed.

'Well, well, what is it you wish to discuss?' Richelieu asked, his eyes narrowed in anticipation of the Captain's request.

'What do you know about Gaston's whereabouts? Could he be near Paris?' Treville asked, his voice brooking no reticence. Whatever the Cardinal had been expecting, it had not been this. His eyebrows rose in astonishment, before he began to frown.

'Gaston? What on earth does he have to do with any of this?' the surprised Minister asked.

'Perhaps nothing,' replied Treville, taking in the First Minister's genuine surprise. 'However, we have learnt that the young footman was encouraged to act as he did by outside forces, who may or may not be known to us. If Gaston is hoping to have the King killed on route to Rambouillet, or somewhere else, is he in a position to access the throne quickly? Is he near Paris?' For once Richelieu did not prevaricate or attempt to deflect the Musketeer Captain. In fact, he appeared to be giving the question his full attention.

'No, I do not believe he is. Information that reached me before we left indicated he may not even be in the country; it is possible he is hiding in Flanders until the King has calmed down following Gaston's most recent act of stupidity.' Despite the Duke's latest attempt to assassinate his brother and seize the throne, it was not without precedence for the King to forgive his errant sibling, giving credence to Gaston's behaviour.

Treville accepted Richelieu's information with a brief nod. 'Very well, but if you know anything at all that I need to hear, now is the time to disclose it. Once we are on the road tomorrow it will be too late.' He hesitated for a moment to give the Cardinal time to make any necessary revelations.

'I assure you, Captain, I have no pertinent information to offer you. I can only rely on your men to do _their_ job until we reach the safety of the château. In the meantime, I will attempt to persuade His Highness to make Rambouillet our final destination. After the events of the last few days, I feel his enthusiasm for this trip is waning, and he may be looking for a reasonable excuse to return to Paris without appearing to be intimidated.'

'That would be perfect,' Treville hissed. 'I suggest you do what you do best and convince the King that returning to Paris would be in everyone's best interest.' With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, Athos in his wake.

'You and the others get plenty of rest, I want you to surround the King's coach tomorrow. Nobody goes near that coach apart from you, Aramis and Porthos. Is that understood?' Athos nodded, realising he was nodding at thin air, as the Musketeer Captain had already stalked away toward the King's rooms, where he was expected to update the sulking monarch.

ooOoo

Milady awoke from a fitful sleep. She was still fully-dressed, and made her way to the water pitcher in an attempt to erase the tiredness that clung to her. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed, weary of it all and, sinking to the chair, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and she knew that; men desired her, she knew that too. But she was also sensible enough to appreciate her beauty would not last forever, and what would she do then?

The very fact that her future relied upon her attraction made her cold inside. Men ruled the world, and all a woman had to keep her from starving was her dowry, her beauty, and her skill in bed. Without warning, her mind strayed to a summer day, a green meadow, Athos smiling down at her, promising to be hers until her final breath. That irony was not lost on her, the jolt of the rope fresh in her mind, enough to break her out of the unusual well of self-reflection she had allowed herself to fall into.

Her sudden movement rustled the note still secreted inside her bodice. With a sharp reminder of whom it was from, she reached and pulled it from the warm velvet.

_Private chapel, as soon as it is dark_.

For some reason, the lack of gentility only exacerbated her current mood. Was she beginning to lose her edge? Why did she suddenly wish for something more? She was tired of being at the First Minister's beck and call, a mere pawn in a man's game. Perhaps mortality did not seem so far away. Who knew what lay around the corner – would she die without ever feeling that warm sensation in the pit of her stomach that flared at the mere site of another, knowing that they felt the same for her?

With a sigh of frustration and the cold weight of inevitability, she rose from the bed. The light from the window had already faded, and the sound of footsteps up and down the corridor were a reminder of their imminent departure the next morning; though she doubted it would be much before lunch, for the King was no early riser. Still, in light of the day's events, even he may make an exception. Milady moved to the window and watched the remains of the day as it slipped below the horizon. Perhaps, at last, Richelieu would give her something to keep her occupied, _something_ to engage her mind, _anything_ that was _not_ her husband.

While most of the château slept, Milady slipped quietly from her room, making her way to the small chapel built on the upper floors for the royal party's private worship. The small room had no windows that could offer a view, or distraction, from the main purpose of those finding themselves in need of its confines. It was high-ceilinged, with incense holders hanging low, swinging with a stifled groan from the beams. The room reeked of the cloying scent, and no sign of the twinkling stars could be seen through the stained-glass scenes, depicting martyrs and saints, set high up in the plain plastered walls.

The swish of silk upon the thick carpeted floors was the only sound, the flickering candles that lit the small altar the only light. She was aware of the black shape that knelt before the ornate crucifix, and not for the first time wondered at the man's true belief. Was it really in God, or was it in fact only in himself?

As she walked slowly toward him, he rose and turned to face her, but not before completing his prayer and genuflecting in front of the cross.

'Good, you are here. Listen carefully, it is time for you to be useful.' He continued to outline the information Treville had shared with him, and all the while she listened with interest waiting for the part that involved her.

'So tomorrow, I want you to make sure you ride in the coach with us.' Milady frowned. The royal coach was certainly roomy, and previously the Comte and Comtesse de Foi had ridden with the King, Queen and Cardinal to provide the King with entertainment. 'I will make some excuse about separating the Royal party for their own protection, retaining a single lady for the Queen.'

'What exactly do you expect me to do?' she asked, still wary of the Minister's intentions.

'Protect the King, what do you think? I did not bring you just to look pretty and moon over Athos.' The comment hit her like a bucket of iced water, but she would not give him the satisfaction of showing it.

'I appreciate a handsome man like any other woman, but I doubt I have ever mooned,' she replied with a bored tone. 'Exactly how do you expect me to save the King when a host of Musketeers fail? Presuming they will have failed if whoever it is you are expecting get as far as the coach.' Giving the first sign that his _sang froid _was beginning to slip, Richelieu ran his hand over his eyes before answering.

'I have every faith in your skills, but I doubt anyone else will see you as anything other than a defenceless woman, and I expect it will not be the first time you have turned _that_ to your advantage.' He smirked once more.

'What about the Queen?' Milady asked, watching his reaction with interest.

The First Minister shrugged his shoulders, 'A Queen is not irreplaceable. Your duty is to your King – just see that you do it.' With that, he indicated the interview was over. As always, she complied and walked away. But oh how she wished for that day, the day when _she_ could be the one to decide when the conversation was over, that she was done with _his _unsavoury demands.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Milady considered returning to her room, but by royal standards it was far too early to retire – in fact, it was probably not much past sunset. In addition, her absence would be noted if she departed before the Queen, and she had much to do. Sighing dramatically, she changed direction and made her way back toward the royal apartments. Somehow, she was supposed to ensure she sat with the Queen on the morrow, and even she was not sure just how she was supposed to accomplish such a task.

She slipped inside the room, hoping nobody had noticed her absence, even though that was unlikely with Suzanne d'Angou watching her every move. Milady had never been one to make friends with women; beauty was avoided by those who did not have it themselves, and considered open warfare between those who did. Still, there were females whom she could at least admit a grudging respect for, the Queen being one. Louis' wife was nobody's fool, though how she maintained such a stoic figure when she was surrounded by the King's immaturity, and the Cardinal's constant machinations, Milady had no idea.

However, Lady d'Angou was as far from being her friend as it was possible to get; she would even prefer to wrangle with Richelieu than swap barbs with the odious woman. Milady had convinced herself it had nothing to do with Athos, or the way the woman flaunted herself at him whenever the opportunity presented itself. She simply loathed the woman's every fibre, and the possibility that they may be alike was inconceivable.

Crossing the floor, she made her way toward a small table beside the window. The Queen was playing cards with two of the more sedate ladies-in-waiting, but Suzanne was nowhere to be seen. Good, she did not need the distraction. Of the six women who had set out to accompany the Queen, poor Angeline was dead, and that left four, apart from her, so how was she going to make herself the only sensible option? She could not in all sanity eliminate three women in one night – not that she found the notion disagreeable, it would simply not be sensible.

Suddenly the noise of a glass breaking caught her attention. One of the ladies playing cards was holding her hand to her head and the Queen had stood and was moving to her side.

'My dear Marie, are you unwell?' the Queen asked, kneeling beside the stricken woman.

'No, no, Your Majesty, just a sudden twinge. I ate fish at luncheon, and I must admit it is not a particular favourite. Luckily, I did not eat much. The discomfort will pass in a short while. Please do not concern yourself.' Despite her protestations, the girl had turned as white as snow.

'Nonsense, my dear, you must go and rest. Tomorrow will be difficult enough without you feeling ill. Go and get some sleep, Antonia will accompany you to your room.' The Queen continued to insist, despite the girl's claim that she would be recovered shortly. Eventually, the Queen had her way, and a grateful Marie left on the supporting arm of her friend Antonia.

Milady smiled her feline smile and began to see the formation of an idea. She rose slowly from her table and walked over to the Queen, who was now seated alone and looking somewhat lost.

'Would you like a glass of wine Your Majesty? You look a little pale, I do hope you are not feeling ill also?' Milady feigned concern and looked at the Queen in earnest.

'No, Anne, I am quite well. I am afraid I was simply considering how ill-fated our party appears to be. I am beginning to wonder if we should not simply return to Paris.' Milady was not sure if this was something Richelieu wanted her to encourage, as he had not made his plans clear to her, though personally she thought it an excellent idea.

'His Majesty does seem to have his heart set on completing the journey, does he not?' Milady asked as she handed the Queen a glass of wine, the dark red liquid glinting like blood in the light of the fire.

'Yes, I am afraid he does. Still, Marie seems to believe she will be well on the morrow, so all will be fine.' The Queen smiled, though Milady could still see the shadow of doubt in her eyes. She was just about to suggest the ladies may wish to stay behind, when a cold draught caused the candle between them to stutter. As a figure moved to stand by the table, Milady recognised the sickly smell of vanilla and knew who it was. Of course, her timing was impeccable.

'Ah, Suzanne my dear, I wondered where you were. You are not ill are you?' Suzanne appeared somewhat surprised.

'Ill? No, Your Majesty. Why, is someone ill?' She cast her gaze around the room, then looked at Milady with a hopeful expression upon her face. Her disappointment was evident when the Queen explained that it was Marie, not Milady, who had fallen ill. Just then, the door was flung open and the King strode in, followed by a rather flustered Richelieu. Milady would have enjoyed the spectacle had not been for the instructions he had given her.

'I am telling you, Cardinal, I will not return to Paris like a kicked puppy.' The fact he looked exactly like a sulking puppy was not lost on Milady, and she sipped her wine to hide her amusement. 'This entire trip was about making a show of strength. How will it look if I run home at the first sign of upset?' The King grabbed the goblet of wine the footman held out to him and drank deeply.

'I would hardly call the murder of a young woman and an attempted assassination an upset; not to mention the attacks on your Musketeers. I am simply suggesting that you may be safer in Paris. We might consider making the journey again when the weather is more stable, and perhaps with less of an entourage.' Richelieu knew he had little chance of persuading the King to return home, but he had at least tried.

'All of that is very trying, and I am very sorry for the tragic loss, of course, but I am King, and I will not be distracted from my goal.' He gave the First Minister a grin, as though he had made a very important stand and should be applauded.

'Very heroic, Your Majesty.' Richelieu played along, hoping at least to get some of the concessions he needed. 'Might I then suggest a way in which your personage, and of course that of the Queen, may be better protected?' The King turned to his First Minister and nodded for him to continue.

'If we could reduce the amount of people in the coach travelling with your royal persons, then it would make it much easier to defend you should we be waylaid by further adversaries. Of course, perhaps one lady should travel with the Queen, as well as myself and Your Majesty.' The King drank his wine then held out his glass to be refilled, and when the footman had once more withdrawn, the King gave Richelieu his full attention.

'I cannot find fault with that suggestion, Cardinal. Make it so. Now I think it is time my wife and I retired. I can feel a headache approaching, and I know Treville will expect us to set out at some ungodly hour on the morrow. Come, my dear, let us prepare for another arduous journey.'

The royal couple left, but not before the Queen spoke to Suzanne. 'Perhaps you will join me tomorrow, my dear? I am not sure Marie will be well enough.' She smiled at Milady but, once again, she showed that slight element of mistrust in her eyes that Milady had seen before.

'Of course, Your Majesty, it would be a privilege.' Suzanne bowed her head as the couple turned and left the room. A look passed between Milady and the Cardinal and the man turned and departed through a different doorway; no doubt off to spy or stir up more intrigue.

Milady's head spun. This was an impending disaster, and she had to think quickly – once everyone retired her choices would be limited.

'Would you care for a glass of wine?' Milady asked a rather surprised Suzanne. 'I believe we may need it in readiness for the morrow.' She smiled and took the woman's glass as she held it out to her. With her back to the woman, she pulled a small vial out from beneath her skirts – always handy to have a Plan B. She let the crystals fall into the velvet liquid and swirled the glass around until they had disappeared.

'Here, let us hope our journey is quiet and uneventful.' Milady smiled as she passed the unsuspecting woman her glass. Suzanne smiled back though, like Milady, there was no warmth in her response. The two women sipped their wine, each observing the other, waiting to see who would make the first move.

'So, what is amiss with dear Marie?' The way she pronounced the woman's name indicated she cared as little as Milady did for the ill courtier.

'She believes her luncheon disagreed with her,' Milady replied, her tone as interested as the expression upon her face, though the green eyes concentrated on Suzanne's every move. When the woman winced slightly, she could hardly contain her glee. 'What is wrong, do you feel ill also? How terrible, I do hope it is not some form of epidemic.'

Suzanne sat upright and tossed her curls over her pale shoulders. 'I am sure it is nothing. I am a little tired, that is all.' She tried to give her opponent a telling smile, but a sudden wince overtook her features once more. 'Still, it cannot hurt to retire early. After all, tomorrow may be rather taxing.' She did not look Milady in the eye, deliberately avoiding her intense scrutiny.

'Goodnight, sleep well,' Milady crooned, her lips adopting a sardonic smile as she watched the woman leave the room with a rather unsteady gait.

ooOoo

The lodge had become almost silent now the staff had ceased their hurried comings and goings, and as an owl outside hooted its melancholic cry, Milady opened her door quietly and slipped along the passage. She did not doubt she would avoid Athos, as it was clear his two bodyguards would not let her near him. Still, there was plenty of time.

She stood outside Suzanne's door and placed her ear to the wood. It was quiet outside, no wind or rain, just a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves, meaning it was quite easy to hear the woman's pained whimpers from within. Milady tried the handle and was relieved to find it was unlocked; she could easily have picked it, but she did not wish to be exposed should anyone still be abroad. She slid silently into the darkened room, the stale odour of vomit and sweat pervading her senses, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

'Are you alright, my dear? I thought it my duty to come and check.' She moved slowly toward the bed where Suzanne lay splayed on her stomach, her head hung over the edge, hovering above the chamber pot. What was held within said vessel, Milady really did not wish to know. A gentle groaning came from the figure prostrate upon the rumpled sheets.

Milady sat on the clean side of the bed and gently brushed the ill woman's hair away from her forehead. 'Would you care for some water, my dear?' She reached for the glass, but the figure on the bed only moaned and motioned it away with a pathetic wave of her hand.

'Oh dear, it appears you will have to stay behind tomorrow with Marie. It would not be a good idea to try and rise in the morning after such a night. After all, what if the King and Queen were to catch such a terrible illness? Never mind, I am sure I can take your place with the Queen. I can easily fulfil whatever duties she had in mind for you – as well as any other plans you had. Ultimately, we would not want Monsieur Athos to go unsatisfied, would we? I am sure a man such as that needs a woman who knows her way around the bedroom. In fact, I know he does. Truth be told, I know far more than that.' She bent closer to the sick woman and whispered in her ear. 'I know just what he likes, and _where_ he likes it. I _know_ what it is to kiss those ever-so-clever lips. I _know_ what it is like to have them kiss every inch of my body.' She straightened slowly and traced her collar bone with her finger, as if to emphasise her point.

Suzanne's red-rimmed eyes grew round, and her lips formed a silent O in surprise. Milady gently stroked the woman's hair as she continued her torment, warming to her topic nicely. 'Normally so cold, so in control. Do you know what it is like when a man like that cannot control that haughty disinterest any longer? No? Well let me tell you. It is amazing, like nothing you could imagine. He takes with a power and desperation that is all-consuming, overpowering in its heat and need. Yet still he manages to give in return, though it is almost torture, as he provokes and teases every responsive spot on your body, until you cannot endure any more, until you beg and plead for him to stop, but _not _to stop, to take it further – to take you completely.'

She smiled and placed a cold cloth on the woman's brow as Suzanne watched with wide, astounded eyes.

'Then, when you think you are sated, that you cannot possibly take any more, he looks at you with those green eyes, brooding and devouring, so hot you feel they will burn right through your very soul. Next, he strokes your feverish skin, and you are lost, a slave to his desires until you are both beyond rational thought, transported to a state you have never lived through before, but where you long to be once more – over and over again.' She smiled down at Suzanne and began to rise.

'So, my dear Suzanne, do not worry, our handsome Musketeer knows exactly where to come… should he feel the need…' With a sultry smile and swish of her skirts, Milady swept from the room, catching the water jug as she went. 'Oops,' was her only comment, as she quietly shut the door behind her. Leaning on the cool wood, she could not help but let a chuckle escape her lips. The look on the woman's face had been a picture. For an instant she closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment. Then the words she had used to torment the ill woman played through her mind once more – only this time it was she that experienced the torment. She had meant every word, she had not needed to exaggerate, not needed to pretend, but Athos had said it was the last time. Had he meant it? She had no doubt he believed he did, but she knew what they shared. Just like her, she knew he could not move on. Hate and lust: two of the most powerful emotions to experience. Still, if she had to choose one right now, she suspected she knew which one would win.

With her breath still ragged, and her body thrumming with emotion, Milady contemplated the head of the stairs. Voices rose from the hallway below – Porthos' booming laugh, followed by that of Aramis, teasing and happy. She waited, waited for the third voice, the only one she wanted to hear, needed to hear.

There it was – a deep, slow rumble. Even from where she stood, she could hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips as the other two laughed at whatever he had said. A soft moan escaped her, and in burning desperation she ran back to her room, to pretend just once more that those green eyes were only for her.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Despite Treville's instruction to get plenty of rest, Athos had hardly closed his eyes. News of Bisset's involvement had revived old memories, ones he would have rather had stayed banished forever. He was not a man who tolerated ill-health well, and infirmity even worse; his days and weeks spent lying immobile and in pain were not ones he wished to revisit.

He let his mind dwell on the man who now sought out such determined revenge. He had been the leader of a band of brigands, hired to prevent them from delivering the invitation to the Queen's birthday party from the King to his brother Gaston. Upon reflection, it would probably have been for the best if Bisset had in some way succeeded, as the affair had been an unmitigated disaster.

Still, he, Porthos and Aramis had decimated his group, leaving only Bissett and one other alive – Bisset scarred for life after Porthos had set fire to their barn headquarters. The other man had been killed during the attack on Athos in the infirmary, leaving a bitter and twisted Bissett promising retribution for the wrongs he perceived had been done to him. Athos suspected such emotions could only have grown and festered into something distorted and monstrous in the months that had passed, as evidenced by the actions of the last few days.

Yet, despite all of that, Athos still doubted the man was acting alone, and he could not believe such hatred would have been allowed to remain so patient. After all, he had been a sitting duck for most of the journey from Paris, even suspecting they were being watched the day he had led the horses to be watered. He had given them the perfect opportunity on a plate if killing him was their only purpose – no, something more was afoot, and for once he believed the Cardinal was ignorant of the plot.

The Musketeers arose with the sun, even though they realised their departure would be dependent upon the King's timetable. So, it was with some surprise that they received Treville as the hour approached ten, a chill still evident in the morning air.

'The King has announced he will be ready to depart as soon as he has finished breaking his fast. Be prepared to leave within the hour.' The Captain did not look at all happy, but Athos could hardly blame him.

'Captain…' The swordsman felt he needed to say something. After all, if evidence were to be believed, he was responsible for the whole debacle of the last few days. Treville halted and looked at Athos, waiting for him to continue. He searched the young man's face and watched him struggle to find the words.

'Perhaps it would be better if I lead the column…' He failed to reach the end of his sentence before Aramis, Porthos and Treville all began talking at once.

'There 'e bloody goes again, I knew 'e was plotting something,' Porthos growled.

'No, mon ami, that is suicide and you know it.' Aramis placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, his pained expression evidence of his distress at the suggestion.

But it was Treville's voice that overruled them all.

'Athos, not everything in life is your fault. Bisset was a hired thug who simply did not know when to stop. He may harbour warped plans of revenge, but I believe you had the right of it when you said this was a deeper plot than some festering, ill-perceived slight done to you. You _will_ do as I say and protect the King. I do not need a martyr.' His voice calmed slightly. 'Especially you.' Having issued his orders, the Captain stalked away, leaving Athos to deal with his two friends' response.

He pre-empted their complaining. 'I am sorry, I simply thought I could draw them away from the King.' He looked at the other two men, aiming to deflect their protestations with his dark scowl. When there was no rebuke, Athos turned to walk away, thankful he appeared to have gotten off lightly, but Porthos' deep rumble, and the heavy hand that fell upon his arm, dispelled any such belief.

'So yer think that is enough of an excuse to offer yerself up like a sacrificial lamb?' Porthos' eyes blazed, but Athos stared him out, shrugging off the big man's hand with a violent hitch of his shoulder. Athos squared up to the big Musketeer, obviously in no mood for either of their protective complaints. Aramis, sensing the beginning of an argument – or worse, Athos defying Treville and doing exactly what he pleased – decided it was time to step in.

'Come now, my friends.' Turning to Athos, he continued: 'Porthos and I understand how you feel, but Bisset's actions are not your fault. It was not even you who killed most of his men, or caused the scarring on his face. Both those feats were down to Porthos and me, you were simply the captive who escaped him; that is what he resents, and he blames you. Men like him accept the consequences when they take the money. His job was to delay our journey, and the blame does not lie with you.' He tried to make eye contact with Athos, but the swordsman was staring off into the distance. Aramis was not even sure he had heard a word that had been said, but at last he turned and looked from one man to the other. Still his response was brief.

'I am sorry.' With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his friends staring after him in frustration.

'We should have bloody well left 'im at the garrison,' Porthos spat out angrily, cracking his knuckles in frustration.

'Really?' Aramis replied in annoyance. 'So every time we go on a mission you plan to leave Athos behind? How do you think that would work when he finally becomes a Musketeer? He is a grown man, Porthos, and despite what you and I think, he is more than capable of looking after himself.' Even as he spoke the words, he knew that this last point had a rather ironic ring to it, so Porthos' reply was no surprise.

'Look after 'imself? You are joking, aren't you? The man might be a demon with a sword, and fabulous with a plan, but when it comes to looking after 'imself, 'e is oblivious to danger – or worse, courts it deliberately. And yes, he should stay at 'ome, until he promises to take as much care for 'imself, as he does for everyone else… even 'er.' He spat the last words out like poison.

'Is that what this is about? Milady? You do not seriously think he is worried about her? If anyone is capable of looking after herself, it is that woman. I doubt Athos is concerned for her safety.' Aramis said the words, but he had to admit the possibility was a worrying one.

'Well let us 'ope that somewhere between the King, Queen, his wife and us, Athos thinks he is also important enough to protect, but I wouldn't hold my breath.' With that, Porthos strode away in the direction Athos had taken, leaving a worried Aramis running his hands through his hair. Between the two of _them_, and the royal party, he had plenty to occupy his thoughts.

As the coaches finally rolled away from the lodge, there was almost a collective sigh of relief, not only from those leaving, but even more so from the staff left behind. Aramis did not know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that Athos and Porthos had stationed themselves on opposing sides of the King's coach. He decided he would begin the journey next to Athos; it was not that he did not trust him, just that it might prove to be sensible. Treville led the party, with the Red Guard bringing up the rear.

Aramis had noted with interest that this time the Cardinal had played no part in who rode where, but what had been more worrying was Milady riding in the carriage with the Queen.

Earlier in the lodge, there had been much fuss and wailing when it was discovered that Suzanne d'Angou lay gravely ill with some unknown stomach disorder. The fact that she was the second lady-in-waiting to be struck down had played beautifully into Milady's hands. The Cardinal had taken over, and decided the two women who had shown symptoms would stay behind, with the addition of Antonia to offer any needed assistance. Of the original six, that left only Milady and a young girl of merely seventeen, and when the Queen insisted that she, being so young, should remain safely at the lodge, then Milady's place in the royal coach was a _fait accompli_.

So the three coaches became two. Treville had rather hoped the courtiers may have been persuaded to prolong their stay at the lodge, but they included men of high rank and he remembered Athos' words. They would make suitable hostages, whereas the King would not be too troubled about sacrificing a couple of women, were he forced to choose between them or saving his own skin.

The sun was rising high in the sky, and the air finally delivered a much-anticipated warm glow which felt good upon their faces. Even so, the men rode with an air of suspicion, watchful and prepared for anything and everything. They were mostly seasoned soldiers, apart from the two young recruits, and this morning Athos regretted their presence among the party, fearing their inexperience would tell in an ambush. If he had known just how much, he would have had no hesitation in leaving them behind at the lodge instead of the two Red Guard.

'If we are to be attacked, I would rather it be sooner rather than later.' Aramis spoke softly, watching the two young men who occupied Athos' concerns. He, too, understood the strains on untried men in such circumstances.

Athos grunted. 'The longer we wait, the jumpier they will become…' he drawled. '…and the itchier their trigger fingers will get,' added Aramis completing the sentence with understanding. Athos nodded, and once again scanned the surrounding tree line for any sign of movement. They had managed to cross the river without issue, the water having dropped dramatically, leaving only mud and debris on the banks as a lasting sign of its devastation.

The morning wore on, and as the sun reached its zenith, the party stopped beside a small stream to take a rest and water the horses; with only two coaches and less luggage, they were making good time. Thankfully, the King had been dissuaded from setting out a table and chairs beneath the trees to enjoy refreshments, and though he still sulked slightly, he was now smiling as he handed the Queen and Milady back inside the coach. Laughter rang out across the grass as the dark memory of the lodge was finally banished, and the warmth of the spring day eased their stiff limbs.

What happened next was long after dissected and deliberated over, but nobody could quite sequence the events precisely. A shout went up, and a shot rang out across the glade. Suddenly, smoke appeared as one of the young Musketeers discharged his gun, and as it fell discarded to the floor, the young man appeared as surprised by the shot as everyone else. The second coach, containing the courtiers, suddenly careened out of control, the coachman falling from his perch. The young soldier could only watch the results of his folly, standing mouth agape, when a bullet hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around before he fell to the ground.

It was nothing short of chaos. 'Bloody young idiot has hit one of the horses,' Porthos yelled, as he attempted to hold the animals attached to the King's coach that had also bolted in fright – these were not battle-ready Musketeer horses, and it showed. Both Porthos and Athos were busy desperately trying to keep the coach upright, and bring the terrified horses under control, as more shots filled the air. As the horse finally halted, more men appeared out of the tree line, and with the whole party now split into isolated factions, it was almost impossible to keep track of events.

Athos heard the Captain's voice carry across the clash of steel and gunfire. 'Athos, the King!' Athos did not need to be told twice. Now that the horses had bolted, only he and Porthos were anywhere near the royal coach. He glanced inside to ascertain the situation within before making a decision. Richelieu had a bloodied forehead, and appeared to be unconscious. Milady had dragged the Queen to the floor of the coach, and was holding her down; the monarch appeared stunned, holding a hand to her head.

Milady quickly recounted their welfare to Athos. 'He is alive but unconscious. The Queen, too, has suffered a blow to the head, but she is safe.' The swordsman nodded, but had very little time, as the new arrivals were almost upon them.

'Your Majesty?' Athos queried.

'I am well, Athos. I am armed and will stay within the coach. Go.' Again, Athos did not need telling twice, and he turned just in time to deflect the sword of the rider closest to him. There were at least six men to their two, but neither Porthos nor Athos were particularly worried about such odds. Luckily, they remained unaware of the drama unfolding further back along the road as the rest of the party dealt with the aftermath of the young man's error.

Ducas and Renier had managed to jump onto the stampeding horses pulling the second coach, and so it was a disaster when the wheel hit a rut and the whole thing tipped over on to its side. For those watching, it was as if the entire event happened in slow motion; the screams from those within, and the whinnies from the terrified horses as the momentum of the plummeting coach pulled them along with it. Ducas managed to free two of the animals nearest him, and he held on tight as they bolted, heads down, toward the trees.

The others were not so lucky. When the dust settled, there was silence from within the coach, whilst the horses made a pitiful noise as they struggled against their restraints. Though it felt as though the whole affair had taken minutes, it was hardly more than a matter of seconds. With their numbers reduced and scattered, the Red Guard were left surrounding the fallen coach, whilst Renier lay with his leg beneath one of the fallen horses, unable to do anything to defend himself, or those within.

Treville, Aramis and the rest of the Musketeers were busy fighting off the men, who were still firing as they rode from the forest. There were at least twenty or more, and apart from a shout to Athos, the Captain did not have time to deal with the fiasco, hoping his men would do what was necessary.

The two young cadets stood back-to-back. Though one of them was injured, luckily it was not his sword arm, and the two young men were putting up a good show of defending themselves – had Athos been able to see them, he would have been proud. However, at that moment, Athos had no thought other than to dispatch the two men in front of him. One already lay at his feet, his blood pooling beneath his body. The two adversaries, determined to add him to their dearly departed, were fairly able with a sword, which was an added irritant to Athos, but nothing more.

Side-stepping the corpse, he lunged at one of the men and left a jagged gash along his torso; not life-threatening, but enough for him to cry out in surprise. As his friend risked a glance in his direction, Athos was ready, and brought his sword down upon the man's weapon knocking it from his hand, as the tip of his own blade slashed across the man's neck. He managed to step back, avoiding the arterial spray which followed as the man fell gargling to the ground. This seem to enrage the already injured assailant, and he lunged toward Athos with renewed vigour. He frowned briefly as Athos gave him a deadly smile, and shook his head in mock annoyance as the swordsman's blade ran the shocked man through; his last memory was of the whispered words – _head over heart._

At the same time, Porthos was pushing the final man off the blade of his own sword, and wiping the blade upon the corpse. With six lying dead upon the ground, the two men now turned their attention toward their colleagues, just as another shot rang out. Both men took shelter behind the coach. The King was crouched upon the floor, Milady and the Queen did not appear to be anywhere in sight, and Richelieu was still unconscious.

'Where is the Queen?' barked Athos, fearing some devilish plot of the Cardinal's.

'I do not know. Milady de Winter encouraged her to leave – they headed for the trees. I told them to stay but they would not listen. My wife was not herself.' Waving the gun around as he spoke, his tone swung from angry to frightened.

'Sire,' Athos hissed, as he pushed the loaded weapon away from his face. The King lowered the gun, nodding his understanding. 'Stay down, and do not leave the coach unless I tell you to.' Athos spoke with authority, and the King did not bristle at the man's instruction, but lowered himself down out of sight, ignoring the prostrate form of the Cardinal completely.

More shots rang out, and then there was an unnerving silence.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen, enough of this pointless killing. Give us what we want, and we will leave you alone.' The sole voice rang out across the clearing. Athos frowned at Porthos, and risked a look around the edge of the coach. When no lead ball whizzed passed his head, he risked a better look. He was astounded at the sight that greeted him.

The second coach lay overturned upon the ground, and the horses that had not been freed were now lying still upon the ground, either hit by flying bullets, or simply resigned to their fate. Bodies littered the ground – to Athos' horror, blue and red capes amongst them. But far worse was the sight of the two men sat upon their horses. Before them stood two more of their gang, each holding a gun to two men's heads. Aramis and Treville.

'Bastards,' Porthos growled, and Athos felt him stir.

'Do not move. We need to get the King away from the coach and into the trees,' Athos urged. Porthos looked toward the swordsman with hate-filled eyes, but managed to nod. 'Keep them talking,' Athos implored.

Carefully, he opened the door, as Porthos yelled across the open space.

'Let them go and we will talk.' He knew it was not going to happen, but he needed to gain time.

'Your Majesty, we need to run for the trees, and we need to go now.' Athos whispered, reaching for the frightened king.

'I cannot leave the Cardinal,' Louis whimpered. 'He is injured, they will kill him.' Athos hissed through gritted teeth.

'He will be left alone once you are gone Sire.' He doubted the validity of his own words, but if it meant the King would leave with him, then it was worth the lie.

He tugged at the royal arm, but the stubborn man would not budge. Athos was just deliberating what would happen if he knocked his King out and put him over his shoulder, when one of the men on horseback shouted out.

'You do not appear to be taking me seriously, Musketeer!' He looked over his shoulder and nodded to one of his men. The man pointed his gun at the figure lying on the ground. Athos could not make him out clearly, but the man appeared to be trapped beneath the horse. The crack of the weapon discharging sounded unnaturally loud, and there was a loud female scream from inside the coach. The man who had shot Renier walked around the upturned wreckage, wrenched open the broken door, and pointed his second gun inside.

'STOP!' shouted Treville. 'There is no need to kill innocent people. What do you want?'

Athos paused, waiting to hear the man make his demands, though he was in little doubt what they would be; but he was completely taken aback when the man replied.

'It is quite simple, I want the King and Athos.' The Monarch and Athos exchanged a look of puzzlement.

'You know I cannot let that happen,' Treville replied. His words were followed by the sound of a trigger being pulled back, as the man holding Aramis prepared to fire.

'They will just keep on shooting people, will they not, Athos?' the King asked, suddenly appearing to find a backbone somewhere beneath all that elaborate silk.

Athos nodded. 'Which is why we need to leave, Your Majesty,' he hissed. But to his horror, the King stood, and pushed open the coach door. 'Your Majesty, get down,' Athos insisted, but the King had other ideas.

'You! How dare you demand such a thing of your King?' Porthos made a grab for the naive Louis, but the man could be as slippery as an eel, and he stood in front of the coach, leaving Athos and Porthos no choice but to stand at his side.

'Your Majesty.' The man on horseback gave the King a mocking bow from atop his horse. 'Forgive my uncouth ways, but I am afraid I must insist, or I will have to kill everyone in the coach, and every Musketeer, and then I will start on those inside your conveyance, until only you and Athos are left. I must say, I am glad to see you are unhurt, Athos. It would have disappointed my colleague intently had you been killed.'

Athos glanced at the second man, seated upon the other horse. He had not spoken at all, but by the way his scarf was wrapped around his face, Athos was fairly sure he knew who it was.

'Now what do we do?' the King asked under his breath of the two men at his side.

Porthos looked across to Athos, who returned his questioning look with a face devoid of emotion. 'Don't you dare,' Porthos growled.

Athos stepped forward. 'I will gladly come with you, but you must let the King remain here.' He adopted a leisurely pose, but those that knew him, knew he was ready to pounce if needed.

The man on the horse laughed. 'How very accommodating of you, Monsieur Athos, but I am afraid the only way the King is remaining here is as a corpse with all the rest. For the last time, you and His Majesty come with us and everyone else will remain alive. I give you my word.'

Porthos let out a string of curses that Athos could not make out, but he understood the inference.

'Very well, you give us no choice,' the King spoke up, and stepped forward. 'I hope that if we go with them you will be able to get me out of this, Athos,' Louis whispered, as though his decision were somehow the swordsman's responsibility.

The King began to walk forward, head held high, and Athos could do nothing but walk alongside him. 'I will do my utmost, Your Majesty,' Athos whispered back through gritted teeth.

'I am depending upon it,' replied the King.

Eventually, Louis and Athos stood directly in front of the restrained Treville and Aramis.

'Sire…' Treville attempted to say, but the harsh press of the pistol barrel to his temple stalled whatever he was about to say.

'Shut up, Captain, the King has made his decision,' the man who held him snarled.

At last the one man who had remained silent throughout now removed the scarf from his disfigured face.

'I have waited a long time for this Athos – you and I are going to have so much fun,' Bisset sneered as he let the scarf drop to the floor.

'Enjoy it, Bisset, for it will be the last fun you ever have,' Athos drawled, as he looked the hideous man in the eye. Bisset bristled, but his colleague seated beside him laid a hand upon his arm. However, Athos was not finished. 'And if I am not mistaken, you and I have met before.' This time, he addressed the man who had made all the demands. The apparent leader wore clothes of a better cut, but with signs of recent harsh living upon them. 'Cake-making not in demand just at the moment, I take it? Or was it your habit of secreting bombs within that put your customers off?' His voice dripped sarcasm, but his words were delivered in Athos' most superior tone.

Upon Athos' recognition, the man no longer appeared amused by the banter. His face began to turn purple as the King picked up on the implication of Athos' words.

'You! It was you who tried to blow me up in my own palace! You are in league with my brother?' All eyes were now upon the angry man astride the horse.

'Your brother is a fool, but I will not let it be said I took money and then ran away leaving a job undone. I will finish what I started, but not here. Deal with them Giscard. Bring Athos and the King.' He turned his horse, not waiting to see his demands executed, as Treville and Aramis were both given sharp blows to the head, leaving the men unconscious upon the ground. Luckily, nobody gave a thought to Porthos, who had removed himself from sight as the Cardinal had begun to regain consciousness. He was now inside the coach with his hand over the Richelieu's mouth, restraining the man as he had attempted to wade into the conversation. If Athos and the King could not handle the situation, he was not going to let the snake of a First Minister interfere – who knew what part he had played in the disaster?

Porthos watched in fury as both the King and Athos were forced to mount horses and have their hands secured to the saddles with rope. Those men who were left of the original attackers then mounted and the band rode off into the trees, leaving soldiers injured, dying or rendered unconscious upon the ground.

When Porthos was sure they had left, he dragged the moaning Cardinal out of the coach and left him standing as he ran toward the bodies of Aramis and Treville. Both men were out cold, but apart from a headache, he doubted either man would sustain any lasting damage. He looked at the tree line where the men had disappeared and debated what to do. He desperately wanted to follow them, but he did not want to leave the Cardinal unprotected; even if he was an evil bastard, he was still the First Minister, and if anything happened to the King... He was just deliberating with himself, when he heard footsteps approach. He swung around, sword ready for battle.

'Put your weapon away, Porthos. Just give me a good horse.' Milady stood a little way off, her arm around a very pale Queen, with Richelieu standing to one side.

'What for?' Porthos demanded. Looking frustrated, Milady handed the Queen over to the spluttering First Minister.

'So I can follow Athos and the King, you fool. Someone needs to find out where they are taking him, and _you_ cannot leave. Someone has to take care of the Queen, and until these two sleeping beauties wake up, that someone is you. Now find me a horse and hurry up.' As if that were not bad enough, she ran to the nearest corpse and examined their clothes, pulling a pair of breeches off the smallest. She pulled off her boots, which were secreted under her long skirts, and pulled the soft buckskin pants up under her gown. Her boots followed, and then she unfastened the long skirts, letting them fall to the floor, finally secreting her small dagger into her belt. The Queen and Richelieu watched the entire episode, but only the Queen appeared surprised.

'Milady, what are you doing? Porthos, you must go after the King.' She still sounded fragile and not quite herself, and traces of blood smeared her pale skin.

'I will, Your Majesty, but I need the Captain to come round. There are wounded people and courtiers trapped inside that coach. I need someone to protect you and the Cardinal before I can leave.'

'Oh stop talking and give me a leg up before their trail goes cold,' Milady interrupted.

Porthos helped her onto the Musketeer horse, face like thunder. 'Find them, then report back,' he growled at her.

'Do not worry, I will not let him die.' She kneed the horse and galloped after the long-gone brigands, leaving Porthos in no doubt to whom she referred, despite her ambiguity.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Athos gripped the horse tightly with his knees, as his hands were of little use, bound together as they were, with only his fingers able grip the pommel of his saddle. He glanced across at the King. Louis was white-faced but, other than that, he seemed to be holding up. Athos allowed himself to go over the events that had led to this – it had been an unmitigated disaster, of that there was no denying. He had done his best to prepare the two young recruits, but there was no way to simulate the adrenalin and fear of a real attack.

Still, it was done now, and he had more important things to consider, like how to keep himself and the King alive, at least until Treville came for them; though judging by the chaos they had left behind, how long _that_ would be, lord only knew.

Athos managed to move his horse closer to the King by nudging the animal with his knees. The other men were concentrating too hard on putting miles between themselves and the remaining Musketeers to notice.

'Are you well, Your Majesty?' Athos asked, though he doubted the response would be polite. However, the King surprised him.

'I am not hurt, Athos, though I have felt better, I must say. Do you have a plan to get us out of this?' The King stared straight ahead, realising that their conversation should remain unnoticed.

'For now, it is best we keep quiet and listen. If we know what they intend, then we can formulate a plan of escape. All I ask, Your Majesty, is that you allow me to converse with them, and simply follow my lead.' He eyed the monarch, prepared for Louis to argue, but again the King confounded him.

'I will submit to your expertise,' he replied, and with that, the two men fell silent, concentrating on the road ahead.

ooOoo

Milady had ridden like the wind to catch up with the kidnappers. Though she could only see them as moving dots in the distance, she knew it was them by their sheer number. They were headed toward another forest. Why did France have so many damned forests? It would slow down their pace, but in turn it would impede her progress too. However, the good news was that she could get closer and still remain unseen.

Beneath the dark tree canopy, she watched as they picked their way slowly through the scrub. They had removed themselves from the more trodden path, which was odd, and again it meant she had been forced to drop back, as anyone following this unchartered route would stand out far too easily.

She held back, watching as a narrow river came into view. One-by-one, the horses stepped into the burbling water and began to retrace their route, following the flow downstream. One man returned on foot and began to muss the undergrowth, making their route impossible to track.

'Clever,' she murmured under her breath. She now had a difficult choice, though really it was no choice at all. If she followed along the river, she would be spotted straight away – she would have to find a way to follow closely from the bank. Still, she could undo the man's devious work, and at least give Treville the chance to spot their plan; she had no intention of returning yet. Quickly, Milady followed the route they had taken to the river, then reversed and trod the path again – surely the Musketeers would spot that; they would have to be blind to miss it. Once she was sure the route was obvious, she took off along the riverbank, until she had them in her sights once more.

ooOoo

'Do you think they will follow?' Bisset asked the man whom Athos had recognised from the party. He snorted in reply.

'Of course they will, but not until they have sorted out the mess we left behind. Who would have thought one of their own would be so helpful?' Both men laughed at the memory of the startled young Musketeer dropping his own weapon, and its subsequent discharge causing so much disaster.

'They will not be able to follow our trail into the river. That was a good plan,' Bisset chortled, giving the man riding next to him a sidelong glance, but he offered little response, merely a huff. Bisset did not like, nor understand him. Still they had a mutual enemy, and though their end goals may be different, they had needed each other. And so far, it had worked well, but that did not mean he trusted him.

Riding along a river had negated the need to make a prolonged stop in order to water the horses. Athos had tried to keep track of their position, but it made little sense, though he was fairly certain they were heading back to where they had started. An interesting ploy, but not one that would confuse Treville for long – he hoped. Once or twice, Athos had felt they were being watched. He had studied the tree line on both sides of the river, but had seen nothing apart from a flash of blue, perhaps a kingfisher, for he had not seen it again since.

ooOoo

Milady had taken a sudden breath; Athos had looked straight at her, had he known? He could not have done, but the way he had scoured the tree line on both sides suggested he was aware of company. She had melted back into the shade of the forest a little after that, but she was concerned that the bank was getting higher and higher and, if it continued to rise, she would be at the top of a ravine, with no way of reaching him. She had to make a decision: either keep along the path she was on, or make her way down to the river. Sadly, she knew the latter would be pointless – she would have to continue on her current track and hope for the best.

ooOoo

Athos had not been able to shake the feeling of being observed. It was slightly reassuring, as so dubious did his present company appear, he doubted that another set of bandits would bother to attack, though it was not impossible. No, he suspected this was a lone rider; it was too quiet and too well hidden to be more than one. Aramis or Porthos? Or perhaps even both? They would be capable of such subterfuge. The idea gave him hope. Perhaps this would not last long, though he realised the odds of a sudden rescue were not great, at least whilst he was bound and the King so obvious a hostage.

They rode on, the sun now sinking in the sky. They had ridden for hours and way past the point of the ambush – they would not ride for much longer surely? The King was beginning to look fatigued; they had not eaten since they had left the lodge and not even the kidnappers had stopped for sustenance. After travelling for some time through a deep gulley, the right-hand bank had now become soft fields, filled with the first signs of crop, with another forest seemingly silhouetted in the distance, whilst the high cliff towered over the right-hand side of the water. Athos watched as the skyline changed from yellow to orange; soon they would not be able to find their way clearly; they _would _stop soon.

Indeed, as he was considering their options, the lead rider rode for the bank. One-by-one, the horses climbed out of the water and made for the road – now they would pick up speed.

Milady watched in horror from her high vantage point. She could do nothing but sit helplessly as she watched the party leave the river behind, mounting the opposite bank, disappearing into the twilight along the road at speed, toward the forest in the distance.

As the light faded, the riders began to slow. They had reached the trees and now wound their way along a somewhat neglected path, which suggested it had once led to some form of dwelling. This premise was supported as they passed a once well-made gate, now hanging from one remaining hinge, and buried beneath a tangle of brambles.

Suddenly, Athos was aware of a rider alongside him, 'Perhaps it is time I introduced myself, my name is Timot – this was once my family home.' Athos watched the forest open up before him and set in the large glade appeared a once substantial house, though now it was as lonely and neglected as the gate.

'My grandfather was unfortunate in his choices. He was known to have rather radical tendencies, as well as a dislike for the late King, making him and his associates an easy scapegoat when Henry was assassinated. Marie needed to be seen to be successful in finding someone to blame, and my grandfather, among many, was an obvious choice; ironically, he was not guilty. However, it did not save him from being beheaded. All of his lands and money were forfeit to the Crown, and my father and grandmother left to starve. Only the goodwill of a few remaining friends saw that did not happen. No one of consequence wanted to be seen to help the family of a traitor. The tale was unfortunately not an unfamiliar one. Marie de Medici had her family's tendency to watch blood run and worry about evidence later, if at all.

Athos did not turn to look at the man when he spoke. 'So you thought you might as well finish what your grandfather was accused of starting.' The man actually laughed.

'I suppose you could say that. But I was paid to do this, and I will not take money for a job I did not do. Not that I was paid in full, someone got in my way.' This time he growled at Athos, but still the swordsman refused to take the bait, keeping his eyes on the building now in front of him. For once, goading his captors did not seem like a good idea.

ooOoo

Milady had ridden hard along the tree-lined cliff and, as the daylight began to diminish, blood ran down her pale cheeks where the branches had lashed her face in the oncoming gloom. Still she pushed her nervous horse on, the drop at their side causing him to champ on his bit with fear.

At last the river grew closer, and the bank began to descend. She almost sobbed with joy as her horse stepped into the river, and she began to urge the tired animal against the current. It was not strong, but he was tired, and the force of the water did not help. The light was almost gone, and she panicked, fearing the sign she had left for herself would be invisible in the approaching dark of night. She rode on, studying the high cliff and, just as she began to fear the worst, a flash of blue caught her eye, just the merest flutter on the night breeze. The cold blast made her pull her cloak a little tighter, but she beamed anyway. There was the mark she had left, a torn piece of silk from what remained of her gown – this was the spot where the men had turned from the river. She urged her fatigued animal up on to the bank, ecstatic when she felt the solid road beneath her mount's hooves. It seemed the horse was just as grateful, for he found a well of strength and, responding to her urging, he galloped toward the almost invisible tree line.

ooOoo

Athos and the King were manhandled from their horses and roughly marched toward an outbuilding. It was an old barn judging by the look of it, a suspicion that was confirmed when they entered, the smell of damp straw and animals still clinging to the fabric of the building. Louis was at least seated on a chair, but tied firmly to the legs and back, his face drawing with pain as his arms were pulled taut behind him; still the monarch kept to his word and said nothing. Athos was actually impressed with the man's stoic behaviour. For the first time, he was actually behaving like a King instead of a petulant child, and he hoped it would long continue.

Athos was not quite so lucky; a rope was tied binding his wrists, before being slung over a beam up above. His arms were suddenly yanked into the air, and he thought they would be pulled from their sockets, but luckily they held, and he was pulled only so far, his booted feet just touching the ground. He toyed with the idea of kicking the man in the head, but at this juncture such an action would be pointless, only increasing the possibility of recriminations, and he could not risk damage to the King.

'So, Athos, what do we do now? We do not appear to be in a position to escape, and neither can we gain much information out here in a barn.' If there was an air of accusation in Louis' tone, Athos decided to ignore it.

'No, Your Majesty, but at least we are whole and not in any immediate danger.' The King accepted the comment, though he did not look appeased.

'Is that food I smell cooking? I must declare I am extremely hungry. At least if Treville had not insisted on such an early start I could have faced this on a fuller stomach.' Athos could not help but smile, though whether at Louis' gripe or at the fact Treville was still getting the blame, he could not say.

Just then, the barn door opened, and a man entered bearing a tray of food. For a moment he paused, realising both men were tethered and could not eat.

Turning toward the house he bellowed, 'Gammond, get out 'ere, I need you to watch 'em whilst I untie 'em.' Heavy footsteps sounded beyond the doorway, accompanied by a good deal of grumbling. A large, hulking man appeared out of the darkness, Athos was fairly certain he had not been part of the original party, meaning there were likely more inside the house – not good news.

The large man untied the King. Louis rubbed at his wrists as the returning blood made them throb and eyed the pistol pressed against his temple with some trepidation, as a bowl of stew was thrust into his hands. Athos feared the King might throw a tantrum at his treatment, but the man's hunger stayed his tongue and he ate the stew quickly, in fear they might change their minds and remove it. When he finished, they gave him water before trussing him up again, pulling the rope tight enough to make Louis groan.

They turned to look at Athos, and something in his expression made them stop. 'Wotcha lookin' so cocky about?' the smaller man asked. His eyes held a wary expression, as if he did not quite trust the ropes to keep the swordsman contained.

'Wot's wrong?' the hulking man asked, obviously in a hurry to get back to his supper.

'I sin 'im fight, it wasn't pretty. Put Gris, Rombert and Louson down, and not one at a time…' He risked a glance at the big man before eyeing Athos once more.

'If you give me my sword, I can re-enact it for him, if you would like.' Athos knew goading them was probably not a good idea, but then that had never stopped him before. The man holding the tray narrowed his eyes.

'They were good men.'

Athos sneered. 'Obviously not good enough.' Then came the punch, he supposed it had been inevitable, pity he had not followed his own advice.

'I ain't releasin' that bastard. Hold 'im still whilst I give 'im this.' The big man seized him around the waist in a vice-like, and Athos wondered if he could even digest any food, so tight was the hold.

The smaller man began to scoop up the stew and hold it to Athos' mouth, but just as he was about to take it from the spoon, the man let it spill onto the floor.

'Oops, aint I clumsy!' He slowly repeated the gesture, blinking rapidly beneath the swordsman's icy state, but this time he let him take the food. Athos maintained eye-contact with the man, and for some reason he did not deliberately spill any more of the broth. It was hot and Athos was glad of it. Though he was a man who could go without sustenance for days, he knew that at times like this, taking food when it was offered was definitely the lesser of two evils – having no strength when the time came to make a move, was not an option. As the man removed the water cup from his lips, he turned to leave. He spat on the floor as if to make a point, but not before Athos had seen the fear in his eyes. Good let them fear him; they should, when he eventually had a chance to fight back.

ooOoo

Milady had begun to think she had lost her way. She had been riding amongst trees for some time, just a little off to the side of the main path, and she would have missed it completely had it not been for the sudden roaring of appreciation from within the dense woodland. She brought her horse to a halt and listened intently. There it was again, the roar of laughter, and something else… blood lust. Her heart flipped as she peered hard into the blackness, toward the sound. There it was, a flash of light, and not that far. Slipping to the ground, she made sure the two pistols at her sides were ready and, with her dagger in her hand, she slipped silently between the watchful branches, ignoring their attempts to thwart her path, inching closer toward the unsettling sound.

ooOoo

Athos had begun to hope they would get off lightly, but the noises from outside were beginning to concern him.

'What are they doing Athos?' the King asked. He had slept fitfully after the meal and this was the first time he had spoken.

'I suspect they are… letting off a little steam,' Athos responded, not wishing to unsettle the King who, up until now, had handled himself with remarkable decorum.

'What exactly does that mean?' Louis persisted. Athos considered his words carefully.

'They have been waiting a long time for this, having to wait for us to leave the lodge has only sought to heighten their anticipation, they are celebrating.'

Louis nodded his head, before looking in askance at Athos. 'Is that good?' he asked. Unfortunately, their answer was just barging his way through the door, though Athos had already suspected that the answer was no!

The large hulk went over and stood behind the King. Not bothering to untie him, he simply tilted the chair backward and dragged it, along with the attached monarch, outside. Athos could just make out the light of fires and torches; he could not let the King be their entertainment.

'He won't entertain you for long, too pampered, too soft. Or is that your idea of fun, picking on an easy target?' Athos drawled at the man in his most superior voice, addressing the bearer of the stew as though he were scum. It had the desired effect.

'What, you keen for a little sport? Yeah, yer probably right, you would be far more entertainin'. Gammond, get back 'ere. Let's 'av this one too.' He gave a toothless grin, Athos offering the merest curl of his lip to show his appreciation ''E's practically volunteered.' He gave a hearty laugh as he grabbed Athos' free arm, making sure his knife was in his other hand. Athos forced himself not to wince as his left arm was freed. The pain in his shoulders was severe; as feeling rippled along his numbed limbs, his fingers felt twice the size, and a thousand pins stabbed into the tips and palms as the blood ran freely at last.

He was dragged outside, and the sight that met his eyes was not encouraging. At least twenty men, Bisset and Timot amongst them, sat around the large blazing fire, and they had obviously been drinking. That was a bigger surprise – if they were stupid enough to let their men drink and make this much noise, then even the raw Musketeer recruits would find them; he would have thought Timot had more sense. Athos looked around for the King, and noted the men appeared to be making some form of makeshift platform on to which they were lifting his chair.

Timot spoke. 'I understand you are offering to be the King's champion? How chivalrous of you. I observed your… skills earlier. I look forward to watching you fight again, Monsieur Athos, but I really cannot afford to lose any more men, so I feel it is only fair that I even the odds.' The men around the fire began to laugh, and the small spark of an opportunity that had flickered in Athos' mind, spluttered and died. He doubted this was going to end well.

Milady merely had to follow the roars of approval, and as she got closer, she could distinguish what appeared to be a large group of men drinking and celebrating. To her dismay, she could also make out the distinct, sickly sound of fists against flesh. She was not a delicate flower, and the sight of one man beating another to death did not cause her to falter. However, she had an idea this was not a fair fight and, worse still, she dreaded to see who was on the receiving end – though in her heart she had a pretty good idea.

The King was now sat upon a make-shift dais, and they had laughingly placed a circle of leaves upon his head, mockingly bowing and scraping to him as they made their way back to their seats. Louis appeared to have been more terrified by this act of disrespect than by any other, and Athos feared he would not hold his tongue much longer. He had to keep them occupied, though he doubted that was going to be a problem.

With Athos now tied to a chair and brought into the light of the fire, the men had arranged themselves so they had a good view of the spectacle before them. Stew man had given him a couple of blows to the face, but if this was the worst they could offer, Athos was doing well; Anne had slapped him harder. The men were into some serious drinking, and their raucous encouragement rang out in such an isolated spot.

'Hey, Piquer, give Gammond a go, you slap like a milkmaid,' one man jeered, causing laughter to spread amongst the men.

Athos grinned wide. 'Piquer, what a suitable name. Prick – I could not have named you better.' He relaxed his shoulders as he prepared for the coming blow; tension would only cause more damage. The man's fist hit his face with impact this time, and he felt the pain explode and blood fill his mouth as his bottom lip split. Well, that got a reaction, the swordsman admitted to himself with perverse amusement.

Milady watched as the smaller man lashed out in anger following Athos' remark. 'Oh Athos, what are you doing? Why goad them?' She looked around the group of men, finally taking in the mocked-up throne and dais on which the King sat. Understanding flared and she groaned. 'A thorough beating to save the King, and do you seriously expect him to be grateful, just like he was last time? When are you going to learn Athos? Duty and honour will get you nowhere.' She pressed herself against the tree and forced herself to watch as Athos spat the blood from his mouth.

Piquer was just preparing for another go, when someone spoke, though the words were stunted and roughly spoken. 'Mine… now… mine.' Hulking man spoke like a child, and Athos' blood chilled. They obviously did not keep him in the group for his planning skills, which meant, judging by his size, his speciality lay in other areas. Piquer grunted, but slapped the imbecile on the back as he took the proffered bottle and sat to watch the performance. Gammond circled around Athos, who needed all his self-control not to follow the man as he moved behind him, and he prepared for a weighty blow to fall from any direction at any moment.

Grammond returned to face him again, and offered an almost innocent smile, which was a terrifying sight. Then the first slap stung Athos' cheek. To call it a slap was a severe understatement, as though it had been delivered by the palm of the big man's hand, it had felt as if he had been hit by a slab of wood. Stars danced before his eyes and more blood filled his mouth, this time from his cheek as it impacted on his teeth; he half expected them to fall loose as he _again_ spat blood onto the floor.

He hardly had time to settle his vision, before a back-handed slap hit the other side of his face, which returned his head to an upright position, but not before a sudden upper cut sent his chair toppling over backwards. Athos did not know which pain was greater, the one in his jaw, or the one in his arms, as his body weight and the back of the chair crushed them into the grass. The crowd jeered with excitement, and he felt rough hands lifting his chair upright. At least his arms were relieved of their agony, and Athos thanked whoever watched over swordsmen that neither felt as if they were broken.

'Do not over-do it, Gammond, we do not wish to end the entertainment prematurely. I am looking forward to the finale.' Timot's voice made the giant pause, but then he turned and tilted his large head on one side, as though deciding where to land the next blow. The punch to Athos' ribs took his breath away, his head was beginning to throb, and he felt as if he were unable to breathe. For a second, he feared Timot would not get his grand finale after all; a rib must surely have punctured his lung. This time, his chair had been caught by waiting arms before it had fallen to the floor. As he was pushed forward, his body finally remembered to take a breath, and Athos spluttered as air rushed through him, his lungs automatically functioning once more.

His audience had fallen silent for a second, but now they applauded and laughed at his sudden coughing fit, relieved he was still alive. As the next two punches fell, he hardly had time to catch his breath. Even with his eyes closed, red lights danced behind his eyelids, and he was beginning to see things out of his peripheral vision; memories of a kingfisher flitted through his muddled mind.

Milady stepped closer, anger surging through her veins. Twenty, she counted twenty men, but something about this whole spectacle felt wrong. Why would you let your men get so drunk, so out of control, when you held the most powerful man in the kingdom as a hostage? Surely this was far too important to treat with such trivial regard? As she crept behind the drunken men, she briefly wondered what would happen if she could free Athos – would they be able to fight their way out? She inwardly sighed. Perhaps _if_ they were all drunk, perhaps _if_ Athos had not been badly beaten, perhaps _if_ they did not have to consider the King. There were just too many ifs in her life of late. No, this was not the time to fight.

So she simply watched as blow after blow hit her husband; never bad enough to break a bone, but enough to draw blood and illicit whoops of joy from the audience. Never had she felt so sickened, not since she had witnessed his flogging, that first day in Paris.

Yet again, Athos' chair was pushed upright. How many times now Athos had lost count, he was too busy counting his teeth with his tongue. He found it took his mind off the pain, though he had bitten it now too many times, leaving it throbbing and swollen. However, on the plus side, he did have all of his teeth still to bite with. Again, that flash of blue – something triggered a memory now, in the back of Athos' mind. _Her_ getting into the coach that morning, a flash of blue as her cloak blew in the wind. He had told himself not to look, but somehow his head had not obeyed.

He almost did not feel the next blow to his stomach, only the reaction of the men around him reminded him to react. No, he was busy scanning the tree line where he had seen the blue – not kingfisher blue, but forget-me-not blue; how could he have not known? What did she think she was doing? But if she was here, was Treville here too? Would she fetch them? Athos felt a surge of strength, and when one of the men bent over him to see if he was still awake, he bought his head up quickly and felt the soft impact of flesh before the crunch of bone, followed by the accompanying howl of pain as the man's nose gushed blood.

The crowd roared even more, no longer concerned it seemed who was on the receiving end.

'Enough!' A voice rose over the rabble. 'Get him some water and a cloth.' The crowd quietened down, and someone helped Athos' mewling victim away. The swordsman was delighted to see it was Piquer – the little prick had got what he deserved.

Athos took the cup eagerly, swilling out his mouth and spitting the remaining blood onto the floor; he drank deeply, then used the remaining water to throw on his face. He wiped it with a cloth, though every inch of his face throbbed, his one eye was closing, and the world swayed. Athos would have laughed if he could – swaying, now that was something he _was_ used to. To his consternation, the King suddenly spoke.

Louis had watched the brutal display in horror. He had never been one to enjoy such spectacles, preferring not to have to watch a hanging, beheading or worse, unless it was expected of him. He had thought to close his eyes, but he knew Athos had drawn the attention away from his King on purpose, and though Louis knew this was what was demanded of a King's Musketeer, he could not help but remember that he himself had refused to allow this man to join his elite regiment, and yet he protected him still. He owed it to Athos to watch, but now he had seen enough; he was the King, and they would listen to him.

'I order you to stop! This man is simply doing his duty to his King. He is the finest swordsman I have ever seen, and he does not deserve such despicable treatment.' Louis held his chin high, as there was little else, he could do to demonstrate his disdain.

There was silence, then the men began to roll around with laughter. Bisset growled, but Timot smiled too. Athos merely rolled his eyes and moaned; he doubted the King's intervention had helped.

Athos was untied, and if he thought his arms had been painful before… As he gingerly moved them in front of him, not only his arms hurt, but his bruised and battered ribs screamed in protest. How nothing had been broken he could only wonder. He suspected the giant had been forewarned not to kill him, or break him too much, but it was the _why_ he dreaded. However, he now needed the King to shut up.

He was about to interrupt _his King _when Timot spoke. 'I am sorry, Your Majesty, but we have not yet quite finished with your Musketeer, but you will enjoy this tournament, I am certain.' He gave the King a low bow and then turned to Athos.

'I am glad to see you can still stand; it would have been a tremendous anti-climax if you could not. Before… his unfortunate accident, Piquer was telling us you had suggested a re-enactment your skills. I felt it would be rude to refuse such a generous offer, and I had _such_ eager men to act as your opponents. You killed three of our party today, and all of the men standing before you lost family – two a brother, and one a cousin – so you see why they have volunteered.

Athos spat a trickle of blood. 'I can only assume they wish to join their dearly departed in hell.' Milady listened to the conversation, failing to hide a smile at Athos' droll reply. Dear God, that man really knew how to goad people to the extreme. Her smile dimmed. Could he still fight? Under any other circumstances she would not have worried, as given decent odds she knew Athos could defeat anyone, but beaten as he had been, she was not so confident. Where was Treville? Surely he could not have been that far behind her? She had no intention of going back for them, though until daylight she had no choice but to wait. Perhaps she could get to Athos when this was over. She shuddered – would Athos still be alive when this was over? She told herself he was strong, and as she noted that, despite his injuries, he still managed to move with the stealth and grace of a cat, she knew he had survived much worse. Nonetheless, she hoped that, like the animal whose craftiness he adopted, this was not his tenth life, having used up the other nine.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Not for the first time, Athos swayed ever so slightly as he stood, but if they thought this would slow him down, they were sadly mistaken. However, there was the added disadvantage of a closed eye, severely bruised ribs, and shoulders that pleaded to be left alone. The raging headache he hardly noticed.

'If I am to fight, I want my own sword,' Athos drawled, not so much on purpose, than as a result of the damage to his mouth. The men quietened as they awaited Timot's response.

'Fetch him his sword. Never let it be said that I did not grant the man his final request.' The men laughed at their leader's quip and resumed their eager cheers.

So that was the plan, they meant to kill him. Well, he would not go down without taking as many of them with him as possible. One of Timot's men held out his sword, and as he took it, the man jumped back out of reach just a little too quickly, making Athos smile. He grasped the weapon in his hand and swung it through the air. He had never been a showman, but perhaps now was the time to begin – with a little intimidation thrown in.

He nodded to the man facing him, and the angry opponent charged at Athos, growling as he did so. Side-stepping before the man could slow his momentum, Athos plunged his sword into his adversary's back, seeing no reason to worry about being honourable. He swiftly retrieved his weapon, and turned just as the second man thrust his sword where Athos' shoulder had been only a second before. When his weapon continued to move through thin air, his smug expression vanished, replaced by a look of surprise when he realised the only thing holding him up was Athos' sword through his torso. He still looked astonished as Athos removed his blade, and he fell face down dead upon the floor. Athos could not believe his luck. He was used to fighting drunk, and he supposed being badly beaten did not feel much worse – his limbs still worked, even if they did express reluctance in the worst possible way.

Ready for the final man, he registered little surprise when he realised there was not one, but two of them – perhaps he would take them all down after all. He parried and thrust the final of the original three, giving the man a stinging slash to the shoulder. He screamed and dropped back, allowing the second man to take his place. That was when Athos began to suspect something had changed; this man was not drunk, nowhere near. The man danced around but did not attack, and Athos played the game, though he now realised that his biggest enemy was not the man standing before him, but fatigue. They thrust and parried for a moment, then Athos attacked. He forced the man backward, and with a final lunge, sent him barrelling into the fire. Whilst the others tried to drag the burning man from the flames, the one with the slashed shoulder took his place. He was no match for Athos, and as he made to swing his sword, he caught sight of something flash through the air. Athos had somehow managed to retrieve one of his opponent's _main gauche_ from his belt; he let it fly and it found its mark, embedding itself in the man's throat.

Athos paused for breath, noting Timot nod to someone in the crowd. Three men rose and approached. So they really did want a re-enactment? So be it, hopefully the outcome would be the same, though he was not as confident as he had been several hours ago. Like before, the three men showed no sign of having been drinking. In fact, fewer of the remaining men appeared to be cheering as loudly as before, and most of them appeared to have gone to sleep.

Athos waited for the first man to strike. Again he side-stepped and let the man's own momentum unbalance him. Whilst he took the opportunity to parry the second man's blow and strike at the third, a small cry announced he had struck home. They continued in a similar way, and as Athos slashed the second man across the face, causing him to howl in anguish and fall back, he felt the sickly sensation of a blade cut through his own flesh, as one of the remaining two got lucky, ripping through his doublet. The wound was not deep, but it made Athos grit his teeth. Only seeing out of one eye was hampering him now, and he could feel the strength in his legs waning – he was not sure how much longer he could keep this up. When two more men joined the remaining pair, his heart sank. With four on one, in his condition, he knew he could not win, but he would go down fighting.

With a final flourish of strength, he swung his sword high and brought it down with a ferocious slice, cutting the smallest of the new arrivals across the throat. He did not need to look and confirm his kill, as he jumped back and thrust at a second, parrying another blade on his way, running the man through. That left two, but his breathing was becoming laboured and he was beginning to stumble.

Milady hardly dared breathe. This was appalling. How much longer could he keep this up? Seven men down, he was already bleeding from a cut to his chest when once again his opponent struck home and cut through Athos' leather, piercing his shoulder. Athos staggered back, but for a second he looked toward the trees. Why she did not know, but she _knew_ he looked at her. As if he were saying goodbye, he gave the slightest trace of a smile, as only Athos could, and then roared as he leapt at the remaining men.

She never knew if she screamed out loud, or whether it was only in her head. But shout someone did.

'Stop! That is enough, it is getting late. I think we have had enough entertainment for one night, and I really do not wish to lose anymore men. Your skill with a sword was not exaggerated, you deserved your reprieve, Monsieur Athos, a man of your talent should not be killed for sport. Take them back to the barn.' With that, Timot turned and stalked toward the building, dragging a raging Bisset with him.

Athos stabbed his sword into the ground and leant his weight upon it. His vision began to blur and, as his captors reached him, he slowly slid to the ground. Both the King and Milady gave up a small prayer, though each for very different reasons.

The woman watched as the last of the men disappeared into the house. The lights were put out and only the glow of the dying fire remained, but still she waited in the darkness. Four men came out of the main doorway and, after a brief conversation, walked off in different directions. None of them looked worse for drink, of that she was sure. She slipped between the outbuildings, listening for any sign of movement, but only the gentle snickering from the horses in the stables disturbed the peace of the forest. Silently, she reached the back of the main house, and rose onto her toes, so she might look through the one window giving off a faint glow.

Several men were sat around a map upon the floor – Timot, Bisset and four or five others – but of the remainder of the men there was no sign. Staying close to the wall, Milady made it to the barn housing Athos and the King. Carefully, she traced the wooden structure until she came across a section where the planks had been broken away, most likely by a badger, boar or some such beast foraging for food. Glad she had ridded herself of her skirts, she managed to crawl through the hole, freezing as she crouched inside the darkened building. As she looked around, she noted a filthy rag covering the only window. Reaching up, she gave it a hard tug, allowing the light of the growing moon to cast a wan glow upon the scene.

'Who is there?' The haughty voice of the King rang out, though a slight quiver somewhat diminished its authority. Still uncertain they were alone, she kept close to the wall until she had almost completed a full circuit. 'Who is there, I say? Can you release me?' As she finally stepped out into the ray of pale light coming from the grimy window, the King's eyes grew round. The Cardinal would never forgive her – she was on her own from this moment on. 'Milady de Winter. What on earth brings you here? Are you a captive too? Have they hurt you?' He took in the strange way in which she was dressed and jumped to the obvious conclusion. 'Tell me they have not taken advantage?'

Milady could not help but smile at the King's outrage. 'No, Sire, I am well.' The King looked astonished.

'Then I demand you set me free. Cut my bindings and let us get out of this awful place.'

The smile died from her lips. 'I cannot, Your Majesty, it would be unwise at this juncture to allow them to know I was here.'

'What on earth do you mean? Free me immediately! I am your King!' Louis was almost apoplectic.

'I truly wish I could, Sire, but might I request you lower your voice before you bring your captors running and we are all doomed.' The King opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish, but could form no words. She turned away from him and slowly approached Athos. He had been suspended from the beam once more, but this time they had not allowed him to stand, his feet were not bound but hung in the air above the floor. His head was on his chest and he appeared to be unconscious. Blood still seeped from the shoulder wound, as well as from the shallow cut on his chest that stretched from one side to the other. She reached out her hand, but withdrew it quickly. Turning, she searched the floor, and finding an old feeding trough filled with rainwater, she dampened a handkerchief and headed back to the swaying figure.

She reached up, but hesitated – she knew better than to wake a man such as Athos had become without warning. He was no longer the man she had once known, the man who would open his eyes with longing at the touch of her fingers; more likely he would snap her neck with his legs. In fact, she was surprised his ankles had not been bound, the fools should have known better.

'Athos, Athos, no time for sleeping, wake up.' There was no immediate response, but she noted the slight flicker of his eyelids. 'Athos, it is I, Anne, wake up, I need you awake.'

Athos did not open his eyes, but a drawling voice finally responded. 'I am pleased to hear it Madame, but I am afraid I would prove a disappointment.' She laughed out loud, he really must have taken a beating to even suggest such a thing. He cracked open his good eye and took in the sight before him.

For the first time since Pinot, he was actually pleased to see her, though he realised that just at this moment he would have been pleased to see Deveaux, his most hated brother-in-arms. 'I knew you were there. Forget-me-not blue, not Kingfisher.' He smiled and his head dropped back onto his chest.

'No, Athos, not now. I have no idea what you are talking about.' Even so, her heart had somersaulted at the mention of forget-me-nots – he still remembered. 'I am sorry, but you leave me no choice.' She reached inside her cloak and took out a small flask then, pulling out the stopper, reached up and dabbed the liquid onto the chest wound. Athos spasmed, sending his body swinging in the air, the rope straining with his weight.

'Nooo,' came the faint moan from his lips as the burning alcohol seeped into his wound. As she stilled his body with her hands, she once again reached up, this time allowing a little to pour onto the shoulder wound. She stretched as high as she could, placing her hand over his mouth as he cried out.

'Stop it, Athos. Since when were you a baby?'

'What are you doing to him? I demand to know,' the King shouted in the loudest whisper he could manage.

'I am simply pouring brandy over his wounds. The last thing he needs is an infection from this stinking barn. He is your only chance of survival right now.' She turned back to Athos, but Louis was not finished.

'If he had kept quiet instead of goading them at every opportunity, he would not be in this position.' The monarch pouted like a spoilt child. Milady turned on the self-centred man and let fly.

'And if he had not, what do you think they would have done for fun instead? Do you actually think he wanted them to beat him half to death, and then make him defend himself until he could no longer stand? You selfish man, can you really not see he did it to save you? This is the man whom you did not think worthy of becoming one of your precious Musketeers. Well you were right. He is not good enough. He is better, and you do not deserve him!' Sparks flashed in her green eyes, and she wondered if she had just signed her own death warrant; it appeared a long stay abroad was imminent if either of them survived. The shocked King fell silent. Never in his entire life had anyone spoken to him thus, especially not a woman.

Milady turned at the sound of a choking noise, then realised Athos was quietly chuckling. 'I take it you grow tired of your present employment, or indeed your country?' She scowled. He had always known what she was thinking, but now was not the time.

'I am glad to keep you amused,' she retorted, as she again began to search the floor of the barn.

'I take it you are alone. Where is Treville?' Athos managed to ask.

'Clearing up the catastrophe they left behind. There were many killed, Athos, it was a mess.'

'The Queen, is she... was she…?' The King could not say the words aloud, and even Athos managed to lift his head a little to hear her reply.

'Her Majesty is well, Sire. I took her to hide in the bushes after they had ordered you from the coach. She took a knock to the head, but she will be fine.'

'Thank goodness. And the Cardinal?' Louis looked like a frightened child at the thought of losing the Cardinal.

'He, too, is well,' she replied, though this time she did not elaborate, and Athos gave the slightest twitch of his lips at her tone.

'What are you looking for?' Athos managed to ask, his voice now a little stronger.

'This.' Milady picked up an old crate of some kind and managed to manoeuvre it, as quietly as she could, so that it rested beneath Athos, and then guided his feet to its surface, allowing him to finally stand. 'You can kick it away when you hear them enter in the morning, I doubt they will notice.' The relief it gave his pained shoulders made him gasp, though he was now awake enough to know his cries would alert their captors, so he bit down on the scream the pain elicited. He was taken aback when she climbed onto the box too; now she could converse with him easily and quietly, without the King hearing their discussion.

For a second, they looked at each other, but neither spoke. 'I do not suppose there is any of that brandy left is there?' Athos asked, still not breaking eye contact.

She gave a low chuckle and reached inside her cloak once more, then raised the flask to his lips, brushing his cheek as she did so.

'Mmm, I needed that. Thank you.' Athos smiled, though it looked more like a sneer with the damage to his face. Not that there was ever much difference.

Milady took the damp handkerchief and slowly wiped the blood from his face and eyes, and with the dried blood removed, Athos could now almost squint through his swollen eye. She dropped the bloodied rag, but still let her fingers trace the damage and the gash across his chest. This was hardly the time and place for arousal, but she could not resist.

Athos' glared at her as best he could, and the smouldering gaze made her shiver.

'I have you at my mercy, my lord.' Arching a brow, she smiled and stood on her toes, enabling her to brush his lips ever so gently with hers. He gave a faint moan and shivered as he lifted his head away from hers.

'What are you here for? Is this your own form of torture?' If he was honest, this was almost more painful than the beating. That had been purely physical, those wounds would heal, whereas the wounds she had caused remained open and bleeding, deep inside his soul, and she insisted on poking at them to prevent them from closing.

'Is it really so bad?' she purred. Athos did not answer, and once again she felt the overwhelming loss that his reluctance brought crashing down upon her. She removed her hands but remained where she was. 'I was supposed to return to Treville, but I fear if I do we will lose your tracks. I have left signs along the way and they will easily follow, but I will not risk losing you by going back for them.' Athos frowned. He thought for a moment she had implied more in the words she had spoken, but he would not let himself dwell on the inferred meaning of the remark.

'What is happening outside? How many men?' asked Athos, now urging her for information.

'I am not sure. After they took you away, men came out of the house and carried the drunken men inside, though I suspect they were more drugged than drunk.' She looked him in the eye, and he frowned as he took in her meaning.

'Loose ends and fresh men.' She nodded in agreement.

'They are well prepared, but why did they keep me alive?' She had no answer to that, and neither would she reveal just how grateful she was that they had.

'Apart from the one who appears to be their leader and Bisset, I would estimate nine or ten men.' She knew of the man from Paris, but then he had always suspected that. 'The other man, I have seen him before, he was at the party was he not?' Athos arched a brow and nodded.

A sudden sound outside the barn, someone coughing, reminded them of the guards surrounding them. 'I should go. I will not let you out of my sight.' She looked at Athos, and this time, as her lips brushed his, he kissed her back. She gripped his shoulders to keep him close, and this time he did not pull away. There was a deep sadness in his gaze as she let go. She was afraid the same emotion was mirrored in her own expression, and she would not leave this way. She slid her hand inside her waistband and, removing an object, traced the side of his body. Pausing at his belt for a moment, she eventually crouched down and slipped something into his boot. 'You may find that useful later.'

She gave him a superior smile and jumped down from the box. 'I am sorry, Athos.' She gave the stupefied King a small nod of her head and disappeared from view. A scratching sound followed, then only silence – a silence so loud, it deafened Athos and made him catch his breath.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

They had finished making the necessary arrangements to depart, such as they were. The most difficult part had been deciding how to transport those alive and injured separately from the dead; it had made for rather cramped travel conditions. Still, the Queen had as usual been magnanimous, and only the Cardinal continued to complain. After being forced to spend the night at the scene because of the fading light, they were now increasingly aware of how much time had been lost.

'You expect me to ride? I will be a moving target!' the Cardinal raged at Treville, who was in turn, rapidly losing his temper. 'I demand you attend to the party Treville. You cannot abandon us to travel the remainder of the journey alone. I am the First Minister, and who knows what may have befallen the King? France will need me.' Though the man had a point, Treville was immovable.

'You have the remainder of your own Red Guard and four of my men, and Rambouillet is no more than an hour away.' The Captain continued strapping his travel bags, considering the conversation over.

'You have a responsibility Treville…' Before the First Minister could finish his sentence, the Musketeer Captain interrupted. Treville was furious, and worried.

'Yes,' he spat. 'I do have a responsibility. To the King first and to my men second, and at this moment both are in grave danger, so do not lecture me about my responsibility! We are the King's Musketeers and to his safety we are bound. So I bid you farewell, and a safe journey. I would hurry if I were you, it would seem the coaches are leaving without you.' With that, Treville climbed onto his horse and nodded to the two men mounted beside him, having witnessed their Captain put the outraged Cardinal in his place.'

Richelieu began to stride toward the remaining Red Guard, who held the reins of a horse designated for the Cardinal. 'I will not forget this Treville,' he called over his shoulder. But Treville was already galloping toward the tree line, and neither heard, nor cared, what the puffed-up politician threatened.

'It's been too long, she should 'ave been back by now. We should never 'ave trusted 'er,' Porthos hissed, frustration and anger marring his features.

'We had no choice, mon ami, we could not abandon those who were injured, nor the Queen.' Aramis attempted to reason with his friend, though he, too, was only too aware of the length of time Milady had been gone.

'I could 'ave gone. I'm no medic, I could 'ave followed 'em, I would 'ave been back by now and we would know where 'e was.' The fact Porthos did not say _they_ was duly noted, though neither acknowledged it, but Treville and Aramis knew he did not refer to his King.

'We did need you. We needed your strength, we would never have righted that coach without you, or if we had, it would have taken hours longer.' Aramis was prepared to continue this line of persuasion, but Treville interrupted.

'None of us likes the delay we have been forced to endure, but Aramis is right, there was no choice. We may not care for the woman, but she volunteered when there was no one else. She must have realised it would ruin her relationship with the Cardinal – whatever that may be – but she went anyway...'

Porthos grunted. 'She's a woman, what use will she be?'

'She's the Cardinal's creature, so I am assuming she will be rather resourceful – like now,' Aramis grinned as he slowed his horse. They had been riding at a more leisurely pace within the confines of the trees, aware that such surroundings made the ideal spot for an ambush. It had been the Marksman's sharp eyes that had spotted the blue material, apparently snagged on a branch, beneath which they now realised lay a trampled route off the main track.

He pulled at the silk scrap and, when examined up close, noted it had been secured rather well to the branch. 'We need to keep our eyes open, she is leaving us clues. Be on the lookout.' With that, all three headed along the trampled brush, aware they could be riding into a trap. The sound of running water gradually disturbed the unnatural silence; even the birds in the trees did not sing, as though they understood the seriousness of the mission for those who rode beneath the branches.

When they reached the edge of the water, Porthos dismounted, examining the ground at the perimeter of the river.

'What do you think?' Aramis enquired, knowing Porthos could follow an ant in a cornfield.

'Odd. If I 'ad to guess, I would say this path had been made by only one 'orse, probably going backwards and forwards.' He walked a little way back along the path and then returned, examining the banks of the river in each direction.

'Well?' barked Treville. The Captain was anxious, and not one for sitting idly by.

Porthos remounted and turned to his Captain. 'It is a mess, but I reckon the riders came this way then sent one of their number back, on foot, to cover their tracks. If you look closely, underneath the brush on either side, you can see the damage made by the 'orses.' He paused to see if there were any objections.

'So who made the track?' asked Aramis, slightly puzzled.

'Must 'ave been 'er, she must 'ave realised we would ride right by, so she rode 'er horse backwards and forwards to make it more obvious, then left the fabric in the tree, just in case.' They all looked at each other, realising there was definitely more to the woman they hated than they had first assumed.

'So she has not abandoned us,' Treville remarked.

Porthos hmphed. 'Not yet anyway.'

'But that does not tell us where they went,' Treville snapped, hat in hand and running his hands through his hair.

'I've examined the bank in either direction. One way there is nothing, the other way a sole rider, riding at some speed judging by the broken branches, particularly considering the terrain.'

'Trying to catch up with someone… they went along the river!' Aramis grinned as he realised what the clues revealed.

'That would be my guess. She could not follow 'em along the river, she would 'ave been a sitting duck. She 'ad no choice but to stick to the bank, already 'aving lost time leaving us a clue, so she 'ad to ride hard. No mean feat in these conditions.' A spark of admiration from Porthos was quite amazing, considering how he felt about Milady, a feeling only emphasised by his next remark: 'Still don't trust 'er.' He scowled at the other two, then headed after the stone-cold trail.

They rode for several minutes. None of them had discussed what had happened, it was as though talking about it would make it all the more real.

It was Aramis who was the first to broach the subject they had all been avoiding. 'What do they want them for? Why did Bissett not simply kill Athos?' It was a question none of them really wanted to answer.

'Because it would 'ave bin too easy – 'e wants revenge, and shooting Athos would be no fun. You 'eard what 'e said.' Porthos looked straight ahead as he spoke, though the anger simmering beneath his words was clear for all to hear.

'Athos can look after himself,' Treville asserted. 'We must think of the King. Why do they want him?' Aramis and Porthos stared at their Captain, but they understood his role and responsibility.

'To complete his job he said. Do you think Gaston is still involved?' Aramis asked Treville; he could see no other way for the bomber to _complete his task_.

'I did not believe so, but I am beginning to think the man is a little mad. Maybe he believes if he can show Gaston the dead King, or kill him in his presence, he will have fulfilled his obligation and receive the money he is owed.' The Captain spoke the words, but he sounded unconvinced.

'You said Richelieu was sure the Duke was in the Netherlands. Perhaps the bomber does not know that, perhaps he intends to go to Chambourg, thinking Gaston will be there,' Aramis offered.

'Perhaps. We will have to wait and see.' Just as Treville finished speaking, Porthos called them to a halt.

'Look!' He pointed to a branch a little way ahead, where another fragment of silk danced in the breeze.

He freed the scrap and looked about him, deep in thought. Aramis removed his hat, scratching his head in consternation. 'Why here? She could not have gone anywhere. She is far too high up.' Porthos nodded, his brow creased in frustration.

'No, but they might have,' Treville added. 'What if they turned off here? Much earlier she had to make a decision; she would have had no choice but to follow the rising bank, knowing she could not go along the river. If you suspected anyone had been able to follow you, you would know they would have had to make the same choice she did. They would follow along this side of the river, then this would be precisely the spot you would pick to regain land, knowing anyone shadowing you would be trapped on this ridge.' Understanding flickered in the other two men's eyes. 'We have ridden for several hours; it must have been getting close to evening by the time they reached this spot.' Treville continued to scout the other side of the bank but could see nothing but planted fields and the beginnings of another wood in the distance.

'What would she do?' Porthos asked.

'She would have continued,' Aramis answered, grinning. 'She continued, but tied that silk so that as she rode back up the river she would know when to turn off. Clever girl.' Treville smiled and even Porthos gave a grin.

'Then let's get to it!' Porthos yelled, pushing his horse into canter now they had a clearer idea of where they were headed.

They made good time. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the day was warm, and by travelling along the river, they had been able to water the horses and lose hardly any time.

'Our horses are tiring, so they could not have travelled much further, unless they had fresh horses somewhere, but somehow I doubt they had those kinds of resources. This is a personal vendetta, not a sanctioned plan financed by someone with money,' said Treville. 'As far as we know,' he added. The two Musketeers nodded. They had reached the distant tree line of another wood and, just like Milady several hours earlier, they felt the double-edged sword that was riding through dense trees – difficult terrain and ambush territory, but plenty to hide behind.

This time, they all spotted the blue silk flag fluttering in the wind, and without comment turned from the main route, following the old neglected road just about evident beneath the foliage of the forest floor. Now they rode carefully. The wind blew the leaves and the occasional pheasant called out across the forest, but apart from that, all was silent. When the derelict gateway came into view, Treville called a halt, signalling for his men to dismount and walk. Porthos wrinkled his nose at the heavy smell of smoke still hanging in the air.

Tethered to a tree, the horses happily bent their heads and began to munch on the lush spring grass. Treville, Aramis and Porthos, made their way stealthily along the overgrown driveway, suddenly finding themselves in a large clearing, but it was the sight that met them which gave them the most unexpected surprise. Smoke hovered in the air like fog, still rising from the remains of a large, timbered house, and blackened beams sat at odd angles, the charred wood still glowing in places. It was not the smell of scorched wood that caused them to place their gloved hands over their faces, but the cloying scent of burnt flesh.

Pulling scarves over their mouths, the three men approached the smouldering wreck with care, ever watchful for signs of life. Heat still emanated from the fiery ruins, as they kicked at bricks and debris for any clue as to what had happened.

'Over 'ere,' Porthos called. He had turned away from whatever it was he had found, and was raising his head to the sky, as though the white clouds would somehow eclipse his discovery.

'Mon dieu.' Aramis genuflected as he gazed on the debris of a burnt-out room. At least eight or nine corpses lay tangled in a heap, mostly burnt beyond recognition. They stepped around the bodies, poking gently to see if there were any clues as to what had taken place.

'This one is still intact,' Treville called, though there was a reverent hush to his voice. No matter what these men had been involved in, they were mostly hired help, and even they did not deserve an end such as this. In the corner lay the remains of a man; half of his body was still trapped beneath a glowing beam, his legs no more than black stumps. However, the upper part of his torso, arms head and shoulders, had somehow escaped the fire. His large head was almost bald, and his expression held an almost childlike surprise, but the slash across his throat was the most telling.

Aramis examined him quickly, not wishing to remain amongst the stench any longer than necessary. Standing straight, he turned to his companions. 'He was a big man, a giant, even bigger than you my friend,' he said, slapping Porthos on the back. 'He had recently been in a fight. His hands were scuffed and his knuckles bleeding, though there is no sign of retaliation on his arms, torso, or face.' As he said the words, realisation dawned.

'He did the hitting, but nobody hit back.' Treville sighed heavily, shaking his head.

'Would they do that to the King?' Aramis asked, not really wanting to contemplate such a thing. Louis could be a petulant child, but he was still their King.

'Not if Athos could do anything about it, and we all know 'is tendency for volunteerin'.' Porthos kicked out at a pile of charred wood and growled in anger. 'Knowin' Athos, he probably begged 'em to beat 'im to death.' With that, he forced a path through the debris and made his way toward the outbuildings. Aramis looked at Treville and the older man nodded.

'He is right, but Athos would have known he had no choice. Better him take a beating, as Louis would not have coped. Apart from that, he is the King, and Athos knew his job was to protect him.' Aramis interrupted, only this time he, too, was angry.

'Only it was not, it was not his job, the King saw to that!' Then he, too, turned his back on his Captain and followed Porthos toward the barn.

Porthos was raging. ''Ow does 'e bloody do it? 'Ow does 'e manage to get 'imself into these situations? We've been Musketeers for years, we've 'ad our moments – you 'ad Savoy, but this is different. 'E looks for trouble.' He walked in circles, his tight curls in disarray.

'If there was no other choice, he would have taken a beating rather than the King. We both know, Musketeer or not, he would have seen it as his duty.' Aramis pushed the straw around with his feet; there was something about the barn that made his skin prickle.

'Can you smell anything?' Aramis asked, suddenly stubbing his toe on an upturned crate. Subconsciously he righted the object, then gazed at the markings upon its lichened surface.

'Animals and damp 'ay,' Porthos replied, still trying to dampen his anger.

'No, something sweet, I believe it may be jasmine. If _she_ was here, then perhaps so was Athos.' This bought them out of their reverie, and they began to search the barn in earnest. Porthos found the upturned chair with cut ropes still attached.

'Someone was tied to this chair. No sign of blood on the ropes, but a thread of gold.'

'The King,' both men stated in unison.

Aramis was rooting around in the hay when he suddenly stopped and gasped. Porthos looked up and moved toward him. Spots of blood sat dark and drying on the straw, not many, but enough. Aramis lifted it to his nose and frowned, then held it up for Porthos' opinion.

'Brandy?' the big man scowled.

They looked around, and Porthos lifted the long rope, the ends bloodied and cut. As he held it aloft for Aramis, they both looked up at the beam overhead. Aramis stared back at the crate and dragged it closer. Standing upon it, his arms above him, the rope was just long enough to drape over the beam.

Just at that moment, Treville stepped into the barn, a bottle in one hand and a crown of leaves in the other. 'It would seem they had some fun last night.' His voice held the trace of barely controlled anger.

Porthos nodded over to the chair. 'The King was tied to that chair, no blood. Athos was strung from the beam, blood spots, but nothing fatal.' Treville's jaw clenched. It was beginning to make sense – mock the King and make Athos the entertainment.

'But there is more,' Aramis added. 'I can smell jasmine, and I know of only one person who leaves that scent wherever she goes.' They both eyed him intently, waiting for the marksman to continue. 'I think Athos was suspended from this beam, after he was beaten; that would explain the odd spots of blood. The crate there is just high enough for him to stand on and take his weight. Someone _gave_ him that box to stand on. Then there is the smell of brandy, and I don't think it was Athos this time…' he paused with a sad smile. 'I am guessing she put it on his wounds.' He looked at the others and nodded when he saw Porthos grin.

'I hope she at least gave 'im a mouthful – this time 'e deserved it.' Aramis and Treville both smiled in acknowledgement of Porthos' attempt to lighten the gravity of the moment.

'Why didn't she just let 'em go?' Porthos queried. All three men appeared mystified by the question. Aramis took the bottle from Treville's hand and smelled the contents, he wrinkled his nose.

'Arsenic.' The other two looked at him like he was mad. 'This bottle, there is the faint trace of arsenic. You would have to be looking for it, and after one or two drinks you definitely would not notice.' They all thought back to the corpses in the burnt building.

'Could they have been disposable help?' Aramis asked.

'They kidnap the King and Athos, and arrive here, where they host some form of mock entertainment for the King. The men get drunk, but not the bomber or Bisset, perhaps not all of the men.' Treville began.

'Or maybe there were men waiting here for them to arrive.' Treville nodded at Aramis' suggestion.

'They have their fun, then drag the now unconscious men into the house, where they wait until daylight. In the meantime, or maybe even earlier, Milady arrives, watches and waits until they are asleep and gets into the barn; then obviously decides she cannot free them – perhaps there were guards. Athos must have been too injured, at least at that point, to be of much help. So, she did what she could and left.'

Aramis took up the tale. 'The next morning, they set fire to the building, hoping to hide any traces of the men inside, gathered Athos and the King and left. But where for?' They dropped everything and hurried from the barn. It took them a while this time, but eventually they saw it, a small scrap of blue, hanging from a tree, back on the main path.

Judging by the advanced state of the fire they realised the men must have been gone some hours. Mounting up, they rode fast – if they were going to find Athos and the King both alive, time was running out.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Athos closed his eyes and listened to the silence. He doubted it would last long, though in fact he was glad, as this silence was like no other.

'What exactly just happened?' the King enquired, still able to attach an impressive note of disdain to his tone, despite his rather reduced circumstances.

'Mmm, I rather think Milady de Winter just happened.' Athos managed a hoarse reply, though he was surprised by the slight twitch of his lips, as he imagined Louis' face.

'And what, pray, does that mean?' the King demanded.

Athos sighed, wondering just how much to tell the obviously peeved King. 'We are old friends. She is somewhat… tenacious. It appears she was the only one who could be spared to follow our trail.'

'The only one they could spare? Where is Treville? Where are my Musketeers? Do not tell me they are not coming.' Louis' voice threatened a bout of hysterics, which Athos knew his headache would not stand.

'He is coming. Do you doubt that he would? Unfortunately, some of your Musketeers are now dead. Treville has to ensure the safety of the Queen and the Cardinal.' He had not intended to reply in so haughty a manner, but he was in no mood to pacify his King.

'Do you not fear your King, Athos?' The swordsman had to admit that it was not the question he had been expecting.

'Honestly, Your Majesty, at this moment in time, I believe I have more imminent enemies. You are my King and your safety is paramount. I will do everything in my power to see you survive this ordeal, but it will have to be on my terms.'

The King did not reply immediately, though Athos heard a sharp intake of breath in the darkness.

'Very well, but if I succumb to your lead, you had better get me out of this alive.'

All was silent once more, but this time Athos was glad. He closed his eyes and shut out the multiple aches and pains that pounded his body. He needed to think. At some point he must have slept, though how he was not sure. A noise woke him with a jolt – not a wise move, as pain shot down his arms and into his stiff, complaining shoulders. Hissing, he ground his teeth and strained to hear what had awoken him.

Cold grey light now filtered through the filthy windows, but it was enough to reveal that the sun had risen, and the smell of smoke began to seep under, and through, the cracks and the doorway. For a moment Athos panicked. Were they setting fire to the barn? The idea died as soon as it had flickered in his tired brain. No, there would be no point to that; so what was burning? Shuffling outside the door alerted him to a closer presence. Someone was about to enter, and remembering the box he was standing on, and with a reluctant groan, he kicked it with all the strength he could muster, biting down as his shoulders screamed in protest, his arms now taking his whole weight.

The noise must have awoken the sleeping King, for he called out in alarm.

'Who is there?'

Daylight flooded the dim interior of the barn, and Athos squinted as even the early morning gloom hit his eyes like pins.

'Good mornin', your almighty 'ighness. We 'ope you slept well. Time for a little trip.' With that, one of the men began to untie the King, whilst another came toward Athos. This man looked somewhat wary, though there was a coldness, a deliberation in his eyes, that had been lacking in many of the men from the night before. Fresh, so not part of last night's celebrations – interesting. Still, Athos took this as a good sign; if they considered him a threat, this could only work to his advantage.

The man made no effort to lessen Athos' discomfort, as with a quick slice he cut through both bindings, letting the swordsman fall to the floor. Athos was not sure what hurt most – it appeared that everything flared with agony at the same time. He was alive and, miraculously, nothing was broken, cracked, or injured enough to prevent him from performing.

The man yanked him to his feet. Athos took a second to gain his equilibrium, but that was all he was given, as his hands were pulled behind him and bound once again. He rolled his eyes as the rope bit into his already raw wrists.

The man smirked. 'That's gotta hurt,' he chuckled, and gave the rope a tug for good measure.

'Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I will make sure to kill _you_ first,' Athos drawled, giving the man a glare from under hooded lids. The bastard gave a loud guffaw and pushed him toward the doorway. The King was mercifully quiet and looked to Athos for direction. The swordsman gave him a nod and what he hoped was a look of confidence. The King did not seem very reassured, but gave Athos a nod in return. As they were manhandled atop their horses, they both stared in amazement. The old house was now an inferno, with smoke belching out from the roof and the ancient timbers blazing.

Athos took in the men surrounding them. Only six and, from what he could see, they were not familiar to him. No sign of the giant from last night, or Piquer – it was as Milady had said, no loose ends.

'Athos?' the King asked, trepidation in his voice. 'Are there people in there?' His face had paled, and Athos was tempted to lie, but it would serve little purpose.

'I fear so, Your Majesty.' The horses began to move off, and Athos fell in beside the King. They were not crowded in by the others, and Athos deduced they were obviously confident of their own ability to prevent either of them escaping.

'Why? Why kill their own men?' the King asked, appalled at the concept. For a moment, Athos was tempted to make a comparison between Timot's cold indifference and that of the King toward the poor and downtrodden of France, but if he were to get Louis out of this, he would need to keep the man on his side.

'They were simple thugs, merely hired to do the kidnapping, acquired in such numbers to make any deaths irrelevant when they attacked your party. Now they are no longer needed, Timot wants nobody left alive to reveal his plans.' Louis listened intently, then sat quietly whilst he processed Athos' explanation.

'So, the men here now?' He looked at Athos, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

'They mean business,' was all the swordsman replied, but the nod from the King told him it was the answer the monarch had expected.

As they rode on, the morning was growing fine, the late spring deciding to make a real effort to establish itself at last. Though it was still early, the sun had warmth and promised a beautiful day. It meant little, but it was better than riding in the cold and rain.

Something suddenly rubbed against Athos' ankle, sparking a memory that had become lost in the fog of last night's pain. He smiled, and a glimmer of hope began to blossom. The dagger in his boot would be a constant reminder he was not as vulnerable as his captors assumed. He remembered now, and he was glad he had kissed her.

ooOoo

Milady had spent the night in a small shack behind the barn. She was used to sleeping in worse places, but she had in fact slept very little. Her brain had refused to relax as she ran scenario after scenario in her head, all of them beginning with her freeing Athos. Without him to aid her, there was no plan, and she was not sure just how injured he was. However, it was encouraging to know he had still been fighting and on his feet when that bastard Timot had finally called a halt to the sickening display.

As she gazed at the stars through the broken roof, Milady allowed herself a rare moment of reflection. Could it only have been a matter of months since she had seen him again for the first time? Could her feelings and plans – those festering wounds she had nursed and nurtured, his painful death being the ultimate desire – could those plans really have changed so much? She had believed herself stronger than that, more focused, more reliable. He had ruined her life and he should have paid, and lord knows she had had ample opportunities. The dark inn yard on a cold winter's night as he lay broken beneath the palace window; clandestine meetings beside the Seine; the infirmary, the stable, last night. So _many _chances, and she had not taken advantage of any one of them. Why not?

The cold night air made her shudder, then suddenly the memory of warm lips made her body flush with heat. Was this really the answer? Lust? Had lust made her stay her hand? No, even she was not that shallow. It was true that the very sight of the man made the blood thrum in her veins, but she had to concede that it was more than that. Damnation! She would not allow herself to admit just why she could not put an end to him. But dear god how she wished she could. As it was, she could not even allow anyone else to hurt him – if or when she ever had the courage to put an end to her burning torment, it would be by _her_ hand. However, if that day ever came, she would have to be prepared to sacrifice herself too, for without him she feared she would be nothing.

Now she rode at a safe distance, stopping occasionally to make sure they would not see her following. Ironically, they had passed close to the road that led to Rambouillet. Was Treville behind her, or was he at the Château securing the Queen and the Cardinal? She could not wait for him; if she saw an opportunity, she would take it.

ooOoo

Athos and the King still rode side-by-side, and for once Athos wished the King would speak, as the questions the man was _not_ asking were building to quite a crescendo. The monarch shuffled in his saddle and constantly gave Athos sidelong glances. If he kept this up much longer, Athos might let them shoot him after all.

Suddenly the King spoke, and Athos held his breath.

'Why do you do it Athos? Why do you put yourself in harm's way to protect me? I understand what you were doing last night.' The King spoke with genuine puzzlement, and just a little awe.

'You are my King, Sire, it is my duty,' was all Athos could say. The King seemed to draw in a long breath before he continued.

'But I refused you as a Musketeer. You are their swordmaster, is that correct?' Athos could only marvel at how protected and childlike the monarch could appear at times – a man responsible for an entire nation could not recognise something as simple as duty. Athos tried to offer an explanation, but he was not really sure what he could say. Unfortunately, it appeared Louis was only just getting warmed up.

'I have watched and listened, and I am no fool, despite what people think. Treville listens to you. You do not stop to ask permission before you speak – even to me. The other men, they defer to you. Why?'

Now Athos really could not answer. He had never even considered how others reacted to him, but he felt he may be treading on uncomfortable ground. He gave a nonchalant shrug before he finally answered. 'Treville uses his men as he sees fit. I have a certain flair for strategy, and he finds this useful. As to the other men, I cannot say.' Louis frowned but fell silent whilst he gave the reply further thought. Athos was beginning to wish the man _was_ the fool people thought he was.

After a while, the King spoke once more. 'I meet many people – those who fawn and wish to reap rewards for their fealty, those who think I am a puppet to be manipulated, those who despise what I am and seek to depose me. But I recognise their methods, their speech, their deference or lack of it. You have a manner I recognise also. You are not uncomfortable in front of me, Athos, you never were, not even dressed in rags and bloodied from the Bastille. Again, I ask myself why? No common man behaves such. Who are you?'

Athos' mouth was dry; this was not a conversation he wished to have with the King. But it appeared the gods were looking down on him for once, for just then Timot halted the party and ordered the men to water the horses. Athos was surprised to hear the King chuckle. 'Keep your secrets Athos… for now.' But as he glanced at Louis to confirm what he had heard, Athos noted the King's searching gaze and realised he would have to be careful.

ooOoo

Milady crept as close to the men as she dared; any conversation may give her some clue as to their intention. Timot was sat on the floor drawing a diagram with a stick in the dirt. The man who stood over him was the same man who had freed Athos. His cold grey eyes, showing no sign of emotion, made her shudder. One to be wary of.

'If everything goes to plan, we head for Château de Blois, deal with the King, then turn Athos over to Gizzard. He should fetch a tidy penny.' The two men snorted with amusement and Milady's heart flipped. Were they selling him to slavery? It was not unheard of, and in fact kidnapping for slavery to power galleons was rife, but somehow this was not what she felt they referred to. No, it was his fighting that had saved him from a more thorough beating – and there were many who would pay for a skill such as his. Though she hated the thought, it did mean they would want him unharmed, which in turn gave her hope, and perhaps time. She watched them mount up once more and prepared to follow.

ooOoo

The three men rode side-by-side. Nobody had said a word since they had left the burning remains, riding away at speed as though distance would rid them of the stench of death. The recent weather meant they had needed no further clues – the ground clearly showed signs of a large party of riders having passed before them.

'What do you think their intentions are?' Porthos asked finally. The fact Aramis had remained silent this long made him nervous.

Treville shook his head. 'I do not know, but we are heading toward Château de Blois, and that is one of Gaston's residences, so perhaps the Cardinal's intelligence is wrong. Perhaps it is some warped assassination attempt, though it is not Gaston's style to be so hands-on – he normally prefers to be well away from the actual deed.' The other two Musketeers nodded in agreement. The warmth of the sun should have raised their mood, but the newly arrived spring hardly registered as, despite their urgency, they slowed their pace at last, needing to ensure the horses would not over-tire.

'Wot's up?' Porthos eventually asked Aramis. 'You've bin far too quiet, it's not normal.' He scowled at the marksman, who had never before ridden so far and remained so silent.

'I am not sure, mon ami.' Aramis gazed at the blue sky above and wondered what it was that worried him most – losing the King, Athos' current situation, or Milady. He still did not trust her, and doubted he ever would, but she had wasted no time in following Athos's trail, and she had almost kept her word to keep them informed. It was her agenda that worried him. What did she really want from Athos? Was it enough to keep him dangling on a string, to play with as a cat would a mouse? Did she hope for a reconciliation? Or could she simply not keep away? He really could not answer his own questions, but he was not sure how her constant presence would affect his friend.

''E may be an idiot, but 'es got more lives than a cat, 'e'll find a way out.' Porthos attempted to be optimistic, but this terrified Aramis all the more.

'Is your optimism supposed to make me feel better? I've heard bad news broken with more sincerity,' Aramis snorted, though he could not help a smile.

'Well, we're probably worryin' over nothin'. We'll get there and 'e'll come swaggerin' over as though nothin' 'as 'appened.' Again Aramis smiled, though there was a touch of sadness in his expression.

'Let us hope so, mon ami, let us hope it is that easy.' But he knew deep down it would never happen.

'They cannot be too far ahead of us,' Treville interrupted. Though he had not taken part in the men's conversation, he had heard every word. His main concern was for the King, but he had to admit that he, too, worried how far Athos would go to protect the monarch from harm.

ooOoo

Athos was worried. There were only five men riding with them – one had turned off some time ago and still had not returned. He could have ridden ahead to ensure they were not riding into anything unexpected, but he was more concerned that the man had doubled back to see if they were being followed. Would she see him? He suspected she had not survived as long as she had without skills – she had certainly used them on him. He scolded himself for allowing her to distract him from the matter in hand. How could he ever trust her intentions? One minute she was kissing him and the next sneaking up behind him, dagger in hand. Was she too trapped in an endless circle of love and hate, need and revulsion? They could not turn back time, and it seemed they could neither move forward. It was as though fate had conjured some twisted future, where they would spend their lives pushing and pulling on each other until the rope eventually frayed and snapped.

The pounding of hooves caught his attention, and Athos whipped his head around to see who had arrived. As he suspected, the missing man approached from the rear, and in a hurry.

'Three men, mounted. A couple of hours behind, that is all.' He had ridden hard and his words were breathless. Timot frowned, then smiled. He was not surprised, but it did not mean he was not annoyed.

'Gizzard, take two men, you know what to do.' With that, he turned and spurred his horse to move a little faster. Athos and the King were flanked on each side by the remaining two men. Athos could not believe his luck – only three of them, and the Captain, Aramis and Porthos hot on the trail. He knew it was them, he could feel it, and for once he had to admit he was relieved.

'Athos?' the King asked, as the three men rode away. 'Is this good news?' The hope in his voice was transparent.

'It might just be, Your Majesty.' Athos nodded with a twitch of his brow. The King gave a broad grin, though it looked slightly more brittle than usual. Still, Athos was relieved – the King had surprised him so far with his resilience. He just hoped Louis could maintain the façade, for he had no doubt that inside the man was terrified.

They rode harder now, and Athos had to grip with his knees to prevent himself from falling. At least the King was a good horseman; that was one less worry.

ooOoo

Milady had indeed seen the man whip past her. For all his stealth, she had heard him coming from a distance, and did not doubt where he was headed. For a moment she faltered. What could she do to help the Musketeers? However, her concern was half-hearted. If she had seen him, then she assumed they would not remain ignorant. They were more than capable of looking after themselves, whereas Athos and the King needed a little help. No, she would continue on her way. To be honest, she did not care a damn about the men behind her – as far as she was concerned she would be better off without her husband's bodyguards constantly breathing condescension down her neck every time she saw them.

ooOoo

Aramis spoke quietly. 'It seems we have a visitor.' Treville nodded and Porthos sat a little straighter in his saddle, whilst Aramis reached for his pistol, but made no sudden moves. They could see only the slightest change amongst the trees on the far side of the road, the black becoming a slightly lighter shade of grey before resuming the black density of before.

There was a heaviness in the air and small clouds had begun to hide the sun, causing the air to cool.

'Are you sure?' Porthos asked. There was nothing he could see. The leaves moved as before, the birds sang in the trees, only Aramis' sharp eyes had spotted an anomaly in the forest.

'Yes, but they are no longer there. Could just be a passing traveller, but why would they not be on the road? We need to be vigilant,' Aramis advised, and the men primed and readied their weapons, slowing just a little so as not to gallop headlong into an ambush.

Nothing happened, and there was no further sign of anyone in the trees. It was a sound in the distance which made the marksman stiffen, a whiney from a horse perhaps. Before he could share his suspicions, a shot rang out and Treville spun, falling to the ground. With reflexes born of experience, both men instantly slid from their mounts. 'I was just about to suggest I could hear horses,' Aramis intoned.

'Really? Pity you hadn't been a bit quicker,' Porthos bantered, as he covered Aramis so he could make his way toward the Captain. Another shot rang out but did not hit home.

'Get down, Aramis, I am only scratched,' Treville assured the medic. He was on his knees and making for a slight dip in the ground. They did not have much in the way of protection, only the horses, and they shuddered at the thought of losing any of them. A twitch between the trees and Aramis aimed and fired. A cry made him smile.

'Nice shot,' Porthos grinned.

'It was, was it not?' Aramis crowed, reloading with a touch of pride. 'Where are you hurt, Captain?' he asked, not trusting Treville's initial description of his wound.

'Luckily, my left arm, but it has gone straight through and not hit bone. I will survive,' came the gruff reply. Aramis nodded. Unlike Athos, Treville knew better than lie about an injury.

Firing down on them, the three men rode out of the trees. One was obviously injured, but not badly enough. Aramis aimed and fired again, taking the man out for good.

'Couldn't you have hit one of the others instead?' Porthos grumbled as he pulled his sword ready.

'I do not like to leave a job half finished,' Aramis smiled. The other two men had hunkered down behind a fallen log, and the Musketeers, feeling exposed in the shallow dip, wished they had been so lucky. However, they now outnumbered the other two men, which improved the odds in their favour – this was just a matter of time and strategy. As Aramis was about to risk a look at their opponents, a shot rang out, missing his hat by a hair's breadth. Ducking down quickly, he arched his brow and gave Porthos a look which told its own tale.

'Don't stick your 'ead up then,' was Porthos' smirking response.

'I do not intend to,' Aramis replied, as he raised his hand and took a shot. There was no response, but at this distance they would not know if he had been successful or not.

'Now that was either brilliant, or a waste of ammunition,' Porthos growled, as another shot rang out.

Aramis shrugged. 'I like to think it was a tactical risk.' Once again, he raised his head above the slight ridge, but nothing happened. There was no movement and, though he could clearly see the log, no evidence of a pistol barrel or anything else gave the man away.

'Anything?' Treville had taken advantage of the break in fire to inch his way closer to the other two.

'No sign. They cannot hope to make their way behind us as we would see them.' Another shot rang out and they forced themselves lower still.

'Well, they're still there,' growled Porthos. 'And my leg's getting stiff.' This time, the big Musketeer lifted _his_ head to see for himself what was happening. Luckily for them, just at that moment, an object dropped from the sky and rolled toward the hollow.

'Down!' he cried, and practically dived on top of the two men below him. The earth shook and they were showered with dirt and tufts of grass, where the small bomb had gouged out the earth.

Porthos shook the debris from himself and tried to peer through the smoke and dust. He could see nothing, but his gun was ready anyway, just in case anyone should emerge from the gloom. Then he realised that Aramis was tugging at his jacket. His friend was saying something, but all he could hear was ringing in his ears. He growled, but even that felt like a rumble inside his skull, nothing more. Treville had gone white and just a little green – having Porthos jump on top of his bullet wound had left him more than slightly nauseous. Another shot rang out, and Aramis frowned. He saw the earth above him fly into the air, though he, too, heard little of the noise that accompanied the shot.

The Captain had faired a little better. Having been on the bottom, his head had been shielded the most from the blast, leaving his hearing almost intact. He clearly heard the next shot, but noted once again that Aramis looked somewhat surprised.

'What is it Aramis?' Treville asked, raising his voice to a shout so the marksman could hear him.

'Something wrong with the shot,' Aramis yelled back, causing the Captain to flinch. He shrugged an apology and tried to lower his voice. 'That fell short, as did the one before. I think they have moved back.'

'I'm not bloody surprised,' Porthos yelled. 'I'd 'ave moved back too if I'd known a bomb was about to go off.' There was logic in the remark, and yet…

'Give it a few more minutes.' Treville managed to convey the message with the aid of his hands, without having to inform anyone else within twenty feet. So they kept still, watched, and waited.

ooOoo

Timot and the others had kept up a fast pace for some time. Eventually they began to slow, searching the woods for some sign or familiar landmark. Athos had noted no such place, but now the leaders turned and rode into the wood. Buried amongst the trees was a small hut. Timot ordered them to dismount, though it was more a case of Athos and the King being dragged to the ground. Bisset walked over to the swordsman and smirked.

'I've really bin looking forward to this bit. Night, night, Athos.' Before he could work out what was happening, Athos' world went black.

ooOoo

Treville and his two men had waited far longer than they should have, but with only the three of them, and so much at stake, he did not want to lose anyone. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, they risked leaving the shallow hole, only to find they were alone.

'I knew it!' Aramis threw down his hat. 'I knew that shot came from too far away, we have lost an age since we stopped.'

'I had no intention of _losing_ one of us, we are the King's only hope,' Treville barked. 'We are still alive, not what they hoped I am sure. Perhaps if they have assumed we are dead, we might now have the element of surprise.' They found their horses amongst the trees; even these battle- hardened animals had balked at standing by the three men whilst they were being blown up.

They rode like the wind, though even with the enforced break, the horses were beginning to tire. It was late in the afternoon now and the sun was well on the wane, they had risen early and knew they could not keep this pace up for long.

'Smoke,' Porthos pointed out. For a man who had grown up in the foulest part of Paris, he had a remarkable sense of smell. They rode for several more minutes without any sign, and Aramis was beginning to doubt his friend's rash claim. But then they saw it – a thin spiral of smoke through the trees.

'Not large enough for another house,' Treville suggested. 'A smallholding perhaps.' They looked at each other with a sense of reluctance. However, despite their misgivings, they urged their horses into a gentle canter. Better to err on the side of caution; these men had shown they were not messing around.

Suddenly the trees thinned, and they found themselves entering another clearing, though this one was much smaller. A few standing stones marked the edge of the glade, though some had long since fallen and now lay amidst the grass and brambles. One stone in particular was larger than the others, and rested in the middle of the opening like an altar. It was upon this stone that the fire had been set, though how long it had burnt they could not tell. Smoke rose in a black plume, and small flames licked around the base of the stone, where wood piled against the side still burnt.

Aramis felt a sick jolt of fear surge through his veins, whilst, as he moved out of the trees, Porthos began to make a noise that sounded more feral than human. Treville pulled him back.

'You know what that is out there don't you?' the big man yelled, as he swivelled to face his Captain.

'I know it could well be an ambush, and rushing to whatever, or whoever, is on that stone could get us killed, and as to that…' he nodded toward the blackened shape on the stone. '…that is burnt beyond anything we could hope to save.'

Both Aramis and Porthos looked at the Captain in horror. They could hope they were wrong, but they knew deep down that what they were looking at was a funeral pyre.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, streaking the sky red and purple, mirroring the glowing effigy in the glade, the three of them waited hesitantly amongst the trees. A breeze ruffled the leaves, but there was no birdsong, nor sound from any other living creature. As they watched the object atop the stone slowly break apart, the crackle and cracking of tortured wood echoed around the dell, leaving them mesmerised.

'I've 'ad enough of this,' Porthos hissed. Priming his weapon, he began to skirt the trees, looking for the closest approach to the centre of the clearing.

'Wait!' Aramis whispered. As Porthos glared in his direction, Aramis threw a stone in the opposite direction. The noise it made, striking branches and twigs in its path, was almost as loud as a pistol shot, but there was no response, nor any other indication that they were not alone. Aramis nodded, and Porthos continued between the trees, Treville and the marksman following in his wake.

They reached a spot where the path to the stone was now much closer. 'I am going to make a run for it, cover me,' Porthos stated. Treville knew that even had he ordered the big Musketeer to stand down, he would have defied him, but by now even_ his_ nerves could no longer stand the waiting. He nodded, and Aramis crouched, his pistol ready, as he scanned the trees for the first sign of movement.

Porthos steadied his own weapon, then dashed from the cover of the forest, sprinting for the altar. When nothing happened, Treville followed, leaving Aramis to remain vigilant. Once again, no reaction, and he gave the marksman confirmation to break cover.

Porthos was poking the remains with a stick, attempting to knock the still burning wood away from the stone. Up close, the entire structure was bigger than it had appeared from a distance. A body lay charred within the burning edifice, of that he was certain, though now it was simply a contorted shadow of its once human form. Aramis felt sick to his stomach as he helped Porthos get closer to the stone, kicking away at the still smouldering pyre, in his frantic need to discover whatever story would enfold, blackened and destroyed, amidst the dying flames.

Finally, they were able to reach the focus of the now scattered bonfire, and saw that the body appeared to be lying on its side, as though curling within itself to avoid the inevitable. Porthos still nudged and prodded amongst the charred wood and ashes, but it was clearly impossible to tell anything from the corpse itself. Suddenly the brooding Musketeer stilled. He reached amongst the remains upon the stone and picked up something small, which he dropped into his glove, then repeated the procedure twice more. Without comment or any indication of emotion, he held out his hand for the other two men to see. In the centre of his large glove, sat three small, round, blackened objects. Instinctively, Aramis plucked one of them from his friend's hand, rubbing the soot away, to reveal the gold metal beneath. No one spoke. The small button lay still, glowing, as the fire, along with the dying sun together, somehow managed to imbue it with a light of its own.

Porthos went back to poking the fire, though he now moved as though his limbs were made of lead, and the sound which escaped his mouth was one that Aramis hoped he would never hear again. Once more, he rescued an object from the soft grey ashes, leaving the ruined item covered in a fine layer of powder. As Porthos brought it closer, he shook it slightly to reveal a weapons belt, with no sign of the weapons it had once contained. The leather was blackened and the large buckle was once again covered with a thick layer of soot. At first, the object disclosed little; it was not unlike any other belt. But the smaller strap – the one that harnessed a sword hanger – that was a different matter. This time, it was Treville who reverently wiped the soot and charring away from the leather, and as the intricate pattern of vines and leaves revealed itself, Porthos dropped to his knees and moaned.

'This is still not definitive,' Treville croaked, as though his throat no longer worked.

'No, but this is.' Aramis' expression filled with despair as he held something aloft, and not for the first time. He had cared for it once before, on behalf of its owner, though then he had not appreciated its significance. Now, though, the item, despite having rapidly cooled, felt as though it was still burning through his glove. He wanted to hurl it as far away from him as possible; perhaps without it he could continue to hope. But instead, he curled his fist tightly around the slender chain, as he held up the open locket to Porthos and the Captain. Despite the heat of the fire, and despite the fragility of that held within, somehow it had survived unscathed, though the outer silver was as blackened as the rest. And so the once vivid blue, though now faded with age, still stood out like a heart-wrenching beacon amidst the death and destruction. And it was the last thing any of them could bear to see.

Treville closed his eyes, not wishing for the stinging tears that pricked behind his eyelids to make themselves known. Aramis took no such precaution. Though a sensitive man, tears were rare, but as he held the small locket in his hand, he could no longer hold back his grief. Porthos stood and bellowed like an enraged bull, kicking out at the remains of the pyre, scattering burning sparks and glowing embers like fireflies into the encroaching gloom. He turned to the desecrated corpse and made as if to pick it up, pulling back at the last moment as though frightened that if he touched it, his friend's remains would disintegrate in his arms. Frustrated and furious, this last rebuke was the final straw, cracking his emotional armour wide open. Defeated, he rested his hands on the stone beside the body, sinking his head on his chest and, with no defence left, he allowed the desolation he had fought to control wash over him.

It felt as though time had paused. The birds ceased to sing, the breeze appeared to die, and still nobody dared speak or move. Each man was lost in his own thoughts, his own remembrances, his own regrets.

The first suggestion of rain shook Aramis from another time and place inside his head. He lifted his face and allowed the large drops to mingle with his slowly drying tears.

'We must bury him.' The catch in his voice was matched only by the shudder of revulsion that shook his slender frame at the thought of such a task.

Treville's response shocked them both to their core. 'We do not have time.' The Captain attempted to imbue the statement with the urgency and authority he hoped would prevent further argument, but it was a fruitless effort.

'No time?' Aramis snarled. 'That is Athos on that stone, we cannot leave him there, leave him… like that.' The marksman's eyes were wild and frantic, as he sought out Porthos to support his argument.

'The King is now alone, there is nobody to help or protect him,' Treville countered.

Porthos stood beside Aramis and straightened up to his full height. 'You can 'ave my pauldron for all I care, but I am not leavin' 'ere until Athos is…' He could hardly bring himself to say the words. '… safe.' He swallowed hard, but both he and Aramis stared Treville down, the Captain knowing that he really would have to accept both men's resignations if he pushed them to leave. Admitting defeat, he bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

'So be it, though I urge you to remember, Athos would have told you to ride on, that the King's life was more important.' Porthos gave the Captain a thunderous look.

'Yeah, and when did 'e ever know what was best for 'im?' He swiped at his eyes as he stalked back toward the horses his horse to fetch the swords attached to their saddles.

When the job was finished, they paused for a moment. They had not had time to dig as deep as they would have liked, but the condition of the body meant that scavengers were unlikely to find it of great interest, and the sombre Musketeers had found enough stones to cover the remains.

'When this is over, we will come back for him. We will see him put to rest as he deserved. Now it is time to find those bastards and put an end to this.' Treville eyed his men with a look as cold as ice. When they nodded their assent, all three men mounted up and, without turning back, left the silent glade, with Athos sleeping beneath the black velvet of the night.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Gaston flung his arms in the air and flounced up and down. It was times like these when his relationship to his brother Louis was more pronounced, their love for attention a failing they both shared.

'Have you read this, Despard? Have you? Could this really be true? What should I do, go to Paris? Wait? What?'

The older man watched the young Duke as he walked in circles around the room; he knew if he was patient, Gaston would calm down. Unlike his brother, Orleans was not inclined to regular bouts of histrionics. Oh yes, he could rage and sulk, but he was craftier than his brother, the King. He would settle eventually, then he would begin to plot. In the meantime, Despard supposed he would have to say something to fill the time until such a thing came to pass.

'Your Grace, we have played no part in this, if it is indeed true. Surely it would be wise to wait and see what happens? There is no strong rival for the throne, it will come to you. It would be best to remain ignorant of whatever comes to pass.' He eyed the Duke and hoped he would be satisfied.

'_If_ it is true? Do you believe your contact lied?' Gaston narrowed his eyes and ceased his frantic pacing.

'No,' Despard replied – at least of this he could be certain. 'I do not doubt the validity of what he has told me, though the Musketeers have ridden in pursuit, so we cannot yet foresee the outcome. However, it will not hurt to be prepared. No one else will know of what has occurred; the Queen is at Rambouillet with the Cardinal, they will risk no word escaping until they have further news.' Gaston worried at his lip, considering his options.

'This contact of yours, he was there?' Gaston prodded for more information.

'Indeed, he was, he fought to save your brother, but they were simply overwhelmed. He says a large group of men demanded the King, and another man, the Musketeer swordmaster apparently.' Despard gave an eloquent shrug to express his confusion.

'A swordmaster. Why does that ring bells in my memory?' Gaston's face took on the sly, calculating look he often wore, particularly when discussing his older brother. 'Yes, for now you have the right of it, send instructions to your man. I wish to be kept up to date at all times. Also send out word to whoever we have closer to home. Surely this event is too near at hand to be a mere coincidence. _Should _it come to pass that I am to be the next King of France, _should_ my brother fall victim to this vicious plot, then I cannot be suspected of having had any involvement in this affair. After all, I am supposed to be in Flanders.'

Despard bowed low and escaped the room as quickly as he was able, leaving Gaston to plot and connive.

ooOoo

Milady had managed to keep up with the party of riders without much difficulty. They would be fools to believe they would not be pursued – why else had they destroyed so much of the evidence? However, they had obviously thought it inconceivable they would be followed so soon after the ambush, so they had made no regular checks of the immediate area.

'What are you up to?' the woman whispered to herself. She winced, watching in horror as Bisset walked up to Athos and struck him violently over the head with the butt of his rifle. Athos dropped to the ground, and a laughing Bisset dragged him away toward a small building, half hidden in the trees. Whilst this was happening, another two men approached the King. Louis looked as if he was about to protest, when one of the men placed the muzzle of his gun against the Monarch's temple, enabling his colleague to loosen the King's hands. Together they walked as quickly as they could in the direction they had taken Athos, the gun kept firmly in place. Only Timot remained. Though Bisset was not walking toward her, even from this distance Milady could tell he was chuckling, and his face bore a distinctly smug expression.

'Any problems?' Timot asked, though he did not anticipate any.

'Nah, went down with one hit, a little blood, but nothing much. The other one's doing a lot of complainin' but nobody's listenin'.' He chuckled and took a swig from the flask at his side.

'Not time to celebrate yet,' hissed Timot, frowning as he watched Bisset imbibe.

'Just something to take off the chill. Pity the temperature seems to be dropping again, it might even rain. Shame.' With that, he laughed even louder, taking another long swig, as if to remind Timot he was not in charge of him. Finally, he walked away and began to prepare the horses.

Milady was as close as she dared get. She had managed to catch a few words, but not enough to detail what they were planning. She watched Bisset work with the horses, deducing they would not stay here tonight. She looked up at the sky. It was well into the evening, but after such a lovely day it had remained light a little later than usual. Still, large dark clouds hovered in the distance like storm crows and, despite the display of colour from the setting sun, she feared it would be a cold and wet night.

As she began to move toward the small building, she was surprised when a cart broke cover. It was a small covered waggon with one horse, but it was moving at a surprising pace. She heard harsh laughter break out from the dilapidated structure and it made her shiver. She dreaded to think what was giving them so much fun, though so far she had not heard anything to suggest a beating was taking place. She watched the cart disappearing through the trees and was torn; what if they had separated the men? What if Athos was on that cart? After a moment's indecision she told herself she was capable of picking up the cart's trail later if she had to – right now, she would stay and see what transpired.

Men began to emerge from the odd little building. The horses had been taken closer, so Milady could not see exactly what was happening, though they appeared to have taken on extra horses now, and they were loaded down with supplies. With little warning, the men rode out of the shrub screen and onto the road in front of her, causing Milady to dodge back out of sight. Each man now led a horse; she tried to count how many there were, but they were too fast. However, she did catch sight of the King, now wearing a dark cloak made of some rough cloth, but of Athos there was no sign.

'Damn, Athos, where are you?' she hissed in frustration. She needed to decide: the wagon, or the road? Perhaps there was something in the half derelict hut that would inform her decision. Slowly and stealthily she made her way through the trees toward the empty building. As her fingers brushed the rough brickwork, her heart jumped into her throat as she heard the whinny of a horse, or maybe even more than one. She pressed her back to the wall and breathed hard. The structure was not empty at all, and now she was closer she persuaded herself she could even hear the faint murmur of voices.

'Yer ain't goin' to kill yer own brotha, are yer?' The smaller man, tied to the chair, stared with wide open eyes, as the taller one walked up and down waving his gun. Dressed only in his underwear, he watched the man, and shivered as he considered his options.

'That's what Timot wants, don't know as I can let 'im down,' was the gunman's only reply.

'Just let me go. I'll not say nuthin, I promise. Just let me go.' He looked as though he were about to cry, and the taller man ceased his walking.

'OK, Jud, this is what I'm goin' to do. You put these clothes on – they've left them 'ere so they must not need 'em – then take the horse and ride as far away as you can. Only keep an eye out, there's three more comin' to swell out numbers. If they see you, you are as good as dead. Understand?' He crouched before the shivering man, who now shook his head in compliance, a frozen grin upon his face.

The man with the gun cut Jud's bindings and watched whilst he dressed. When the terrified man was done, his ever-watchful brother took him to the door and urged him to mount up. 'Now don't you forget, ride as fast as you can, and watch out for them three men.'

'You… you ain't gonna shoot me in the back now are yer?' Jud asked, still not convinced he was about to get away so easily. The other man shook his head.

'You're my brother, I couldn't do that.' He turned to re-enter the building and Jud waited no longer – kicking his heels into the horse's side he took off at a gallop, as though the hounds of hell were after him.

'Ride hard brother, and do just as you were told,' Milady heard the remaining man say. She waited behind the door and primed her gun, annoyed she no longer had her dagger; it was quieter for such occasions, but she was glad Athos had it, it gave her hope.

As the man exited the hut, he suddenly felt the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed against his head. He froze, not even turning to see who was holding the weapon, though when she spoke, the surprised on his face gave Milady a great deal of satisfaction.

'A woman. Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?' He tried to turn his head to look, but she pushed the gun even harder and he stilled.

'Tut, tut – I ask, you answer,' she purred, keeping her voice low and sultry. 'Now, where is Athos, and where are they taking the King?' She gently moved the gun barrel in a slow circular motion to emphasise her question.

'I don't know anythin'. They just told me to deal with Jud, I know nothin' else.' The man showed little fear and his voice was calm. Milady had no doubt he was merely waiting for the right moment to make a move, and she would be ready. 'So, little lady, why not put that heavy gun down and we can talk more comfortable.' He still did not move his head, though he raised both hands out in front of him to show her they were empty.

'This is not uncomfortable; you have no idea what uncomfortable is – yet. However, if I decide to lower my aim, you will probably be uncomfortable for the rest of your life.' She began to slide the gun slowly down his body, until it was hovering near his hip. She could hear his breathing hitch as she neared his groin. When he remained silent, she primed it so he would hear the click. Now he was breathing faster.

'Alright, alright, lady, I'll tell you what I do know, but it ain't much. The one, Athos, I reckon he's dead, they took 'im off in the back of the cart. They loaded bags of somethin' or other wrapped in heavy sacks and then took off with the King toward the château. I was supposed to let Jud go, then follow on. That's all I know, I swear.' There was a dramatic change in his voice and Milady could hear the truth in it, or at least the truth as he knew it.

'Which château?' she asked with a burning sense of urgency, as she was aware of the growing delay.

The man gulped. 'Château de Bois.' Milady rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought to herself.

Without another word, she pulled the trigger, and the man fell dead upon the floor. She grimaced as she wiped a spatter of blood from her cheek and, without further hesitation, she ran back to her horse and mounted, heading in the direction they had gone.

She tried to focus on the road, but in the time it had taken for her to interrogate the man, the clouds had gathered overhead. Athos dead. She had feared it would be possible, but she felt nothing. She had thought that she would know when he was gone, feel diminished in some way but no, there was nothing. Perhaps this was it, perhaps this is what it would mean for her, feeling nothing, nothing ever again – no fear, no pain, no anger, no revenge, no love – just nothing. It was as though her entire being had turned to stone.

She did not know why she rode on. If Athos was gone, what was the point? What could she achieve? There was still the King, but what did she really care for the man? Though should she prove useful, perhaps he would offer her a reward. After all, she doubted the Cardinal would employ her again after this – she would be lucky if he let her live. No, a reward may be the answer, allowing her to escape Paris. Then suddenly she realised that if she turned around now, she had nowhere else to go. So be it, she may as well follow, but when she caught up with them, she_ would_ identify the man who had killed Athos, and slowly cut out his heart – just as he had surely cut out hers.

ooOoo

Jud rode like a man possessed. He had no idea what was happening to him – one minute he had been celebrating, and the next time he was aware of anything, he was bound, blindfold and gagged in the back of the covered waggon. He was terrified. His brother had let him go, but what if they followed? What if the men he had been told to look out for caught him? He wished he had listened to his wife, she had never liked his brother, and she had certainly never trusted him. It had all been going to so well – the ambush had gone far better than they had expected. Somehow the Musketeers had been disorganised and chaotic, rather than the methodical foe they had been led to believe they would be.

Now he was riding for his life, dressed in... God knows what he was dressed in. He had a pretty good idea, but he figured that alone would probably be enough to get him hung. No, he had to make for home and burn them, deny any knowledge of what had happened, and nobody would be able to prove anything against him.

It was almost dark now, and Jud knew he could not afford to leave the main road. He did not know the area enough to risk taking a short cut yet; a little further and he would have a better chance of cutting across country.

ooOoo

Aramis was not a man who liked silence. He enjoyed life to the full, and talking was something he did in abundance, often to the annoyance of his colleagues – especially Athos. Now he rode silently between Porthos and the Captain – the hooves of their horses pounding the ground as if reflecting the anger of their riders – little by little eating up the distance between them and the men responsible for Athos' death.

Treville was trying to focus on a plan, running though scenarios that would enable them to free the King, but all he could see in his mind's eye were the smouldering human remains upon the pyre.

No one had been happier than he when Athos had returned to the garrison, and not just because of the skills he offered. Treville was proud of all of his men – well most of them, one or two such as Deveaux and his followers he merely tolerated as long as they did their job – but Athos had been different from the beginning. Perhaps it was the memory of that first meeting between young soldier and child, or perhaps it was the mixture of strength and vulnerability – a trait both he and Aramis both recognised in the man – he could not say. Athos made him furious and frustrated one moment, then proud and protective the next. Now he was gone, and Treville felt the loss deep in his soul.

He could feel the emotions coming off the two men bedside him in waves, aware they would suffer greatly at the loss of their friend. They had been two of his best men before, but when Athos had made them a three, they had been great – as well as annoying, disrespectful and disobedient! Aramis would feel it keenly, Treville suspected, especially after Savoy. Porthos – well the big man would say little, but the Captain knew that if he reached the man who had murdered Athos first, there would be no trial. And Treville also realised that he would do absolutely nothing to stop him.

Aramis suddenly spoke up. 'Look!' They all peered into the deepening twilight. There was definitely movement up ahead, and for a moment, they thought they had caught up with their quarry. However, as they concentrated, it soon became obvious the rider was coming toward them. They spurred on their tired horses, but the lone rider ahead appeared to falter, and the horse abruptly veered off into the trees and was lost from sight.

'Am I simply imaginin' it, or was that the King?' Porthos shouted over the thundering hooves.

'Well, not many men dress like that, though I could not see clearly,' Aramis responded.

'Why would 'e run?' Porthos puzzled.

'He panicked, he would not know it was us,' Treville's voice hollered, trying to make himself heard.

They reached the spot in the trees where the rider had disappeared, slowing down, they paused, not sure which path to take. It had been fortunate for the rider, though unfortunate for them, that at this point two paths merged with the main road, but as they disappeared into the forest they forked in opposite directions. A sudden flash, something catching the light, gave them the break they needed, and as one they urged their mounts along the left-hand path.

They rode as fast as the encroaching foliage would allow, none of them wanting to lose their heads – literally. The figure in front darted between the trees in a completely haphazard fashion. As they began to gain, Treville called out, 'Your Majesty, it is I, Treville. You are safe, Sire.' He believed he had shouted loud enough for the King to hear, but if he was riding scared, he may not be thinking clearly.

'We need to cut him off,' he shouted to the Musketeers. Aramis and Porthos understood, and immediately peeled off either side, rounding up the King's horse like a pair of sheepdogs.

The man on the horse risked a look to his right and left – he had known they would catch him sooner or later. He kicked out at his horse, but the animal was already tired and stumbled, and Jud could not prevent himself from being thrown. He rolled himself up into a ball to protect himself as best he could, but he still hit the ground hard. He watched the leaves fly up to meet him, then all went black.

'That's not the bloody King,' Porthos growled in frustration, thumping the nearest trunk with his large fist.

'Indeed, it is not, but they are definitely the King's clothes,' Aramis pointed out, as he slid from his horse and approached the still form. The medic bent down to examine the unconscious man. 'No sign of real damage, though he will have a headache.'

''E'll 'ave more than a headache when I've finished with 'im!' Porthos scowled as he, too, jumped down to deal with the man.

'Porthos, not yet, he must know something that will help us,' Treville ordered. 'Just wake him up.' He shrugged his shoulders as Porthos smiled at his Captain.

'Certainly, Captain. Oy, you, wake up!' Porthos wasted no time being delicate. He hoisted the man up by his arms and lent him forcibly against the tree. 'Wake up, I said.' He gave the man a slap around the face, eliciting a cry of fear and confusion from the recipient.

'He seems to be _waking up_,' Aramis smiled, resting his boot on a fallen log, and waving his pistol around in a casual manner.

'So 'e does,' Porthos beamed. Treville took a step back and let his men do what they did best.

Jud tried to pretend he was still unconscious. He was terrified, but also confused; the voices around him sounded cultured – or at least some of them did – not like the men with Timot. He made the mistake of peering through one eye, but the two men were watching him carefully and he groaned as he realised his error.

'He is dressed rather grandly for a farmer, do you not think?' Aramis asked.

'Indeed, 'e is, perhaps 'e 'as some jewels worth stealin'.' Porthos stepped closer and the man began to squeal.

'I have nothin', 'onestly. These ain't my clothes, I don't know where they came from, someone gave them to me.' He looked from one man to the other trying to decide if they believed him.

'I think 'e's lyin','Porthos growled. 'Let me cut somethin' off, see if I can loosen 'is tongue.' He approached the man with his main gauche and Jud's eyes widened like saucers.

'He might be telling the truth, do not be too eager my friend – though I must admit, they are very fancy. At the very least, he must have stolen them from another.' Aramis smiled at the man, but continued to wave the pistol around as he spoke.

'No, no, I didn't, I was given 'em, my brother gave me 'em when I escaped.' He did not know who to fear most, the large man with the angry glare, brandishing the knife, or the smaller man – he may have been smiling, but the gun told a different story.

Treville decided his men had softened him up enough; it was time for some serious questioning.

'Gentlemen, enough. My turn, I believe.' The two Musketeers took a step back, Aramis rolling his eyes and giving Jud a dramatic _you are done for now _expression. 'I am Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers. I will ask you this only once: why are you wearing the King's clothes?'

Jud gasped in surprise as he looked from one man to the other, only now noticing the pauldrons upon their shoulders. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of hope.

'I am Reynard, Jud Reynard. I wos 'ired by a man called Timot. 'E didn't say at first what the job woz, just that we were to ambush an 'ighly guarded travelling group and take 'ostages. 'E pointed out the front carriage and told us no one was to 'arm anyone in it.' He stopped to see how his story was being received.

Porthos poked him with the tip of his knife. 'Did you 'ear the Captain to tell you to stop?' Jud shrunk backward.

'Sorry. Well, when we got there, someone fired and there was chaos. We fought for a while then Timot stopped us and called the shots. The King and another man were taken, then we rode away and took 'em back to the house in the woods.' The man's mouth was now so dry that he licked his lips in an attempt to moisten them.

Porthos waved the knife once again and Jud hurried to continue. 'We 'ad a drink, food, yer know. Then I don't know wot 'appened. The next fing I knew I was blindfolded and bound in the back of a cart. I was thrown into a shed of some kind and stripped. There were men outside and I were tied to a chair, these clothes wos on the floor. I never took 'em, 'onest.' As usual in these situations, the man had decided Aramis was his best hope of survival. He looked at him, his eyes beseeching the Musketeer to believe him. The night had grown dark, and he could hardly make out the men's faces – only the Captain's pale eyes seemed to bore into him in the gloom.

Aramis nodded for Jud to continue and the man did so. 'I were all alone. I 'eard the cart leave, and I waited. Then I 'eard the 'orses ride away, and I thought they wos leavin' me there to starve. I 'ad no idea why, I 'adn't done anythin' wrong.'

'Only killed a few Musketeers and kidnapped the King,' Porthos hissed, letting his knife cut through the air. The rain was now coming down in heavy drops, and somehow it made the three men appear twice as mean.

Jud had nowhere left to go in order to put distance between himself and the furious Musketeer, so he began to speak faster than ever. 'So, then the door opened and it were my brother. 'E told me they 'ad sent 'im to kill me. I didn't think 'e would do it, but I weren't sure. Eventually 'e told me to ride as far away as I could, and 'e gave me the clothes to wear, as I had nothin'. 'E told me to watch out for three riders, 'e said they wos Timot's men and they would kill me. That were why I ran, I were just trying to get 'ome, I swear.' This time he flagged. It was as if his bones had melted and he simply allowed himself to slump against the trunk of the tree.

'Not so fast. Where is the King?' Treville barked, jerking the man upright by his collar.

'I don't know, I swear. The last time I saw 'im 'e were sittin' by the fire, watchin' the other one fight.' He could not have known how his words would be received. There was no question who the _other one _was.

'Who was 'e fightin'?' Porthos asked, his tone quiet and twice as menacing.

''E started out with two, then three, then four, he killed one, I don't know, I couldn't keep it straight in me 'ead. They'd worked 'im over pretty good, but 'e could still fight. It were somethin' to see. He were keepin' four at bay, I think, but Timot stopped it. I were tired, I don't remember anythin' else.' He looked pleadingly at the three men, and somehow he knew the last part of his story had not been well received. Three pairs of stone-cold eyes now watched him intently.

Porthos took a step forward, but Aramis restrained him. 'It is not worth it, we have been fooled. They knew we could not be far behind and they made a brilliant move.' The marksman shook his head, his expression full of sadness.

'He was a decoy, nothing more. It did not matter if we caught him or shot him, he knew nothing of use.' Treville spat the words out in anger. 'Now it is dark, and we can do nothing until morning, by which time God knows where the King will be.'

The three men looked at each other with a mixture of horror and frustration; it would be a long night, and sleep would be hard to find. It had been a day like no other and memories would crowd in upon them all in the darkness. Laughter, tears, regrets, the night hid all and kept a man's thoughts private, but with the light of day there would be no further delays. Athos would be avenged.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Athos awoke with the headache from hell, not helped by the fact he was strapped across a horse that was moving at speed. His stomach roiled as the constant motion began to churn at his insides. He could not remember the last time he had eaten, but whenever it had been, he worried it might just make an appearance soon if they did not lessen the pace. His ribs protested, still bruised and sensitive from the previous night's _fun_.

He couldn't work out why he was so cold, and wet – he was very wet. From the angle he was lying, he could just make out his arm, but struggled to understand why he could only see his shirt sleeve, which was now clinging to him in the downpour. Confused, he tried to recall the last thing he _could_ remember, but the increasing sensation of nausea refused to let him focus. Just when he thought he could not take much more of the continual jostling, he heard a shout from somewhere nearby and finally sensed the horse beginning to slow. He had no idea what was happening, but he was thankful, at least, for that small mercy.

The horse had hardly come to a stop when rough hands grabbed him and hauled him off the beast. He stumbled slightly, the world spinning as he was stood upright. Athos was glad they were holding him, as he suspected he would have fallen flat on his face had they not been there. Neither man spoke, just forced him to walk. There was water nearby – he could hear the tumbling sound as it journeyed over rocks and stone – but other than that there was no familiar sign. However, there was a ruin of some kind, an old house or farmstead. Athos was shoved into the crumbling remains of an old stable and secured to a ring on the wall, and he sighed with relief when he saw them drag the King into the stall next to him.

The men had only just left the building when the King called his name.

'Athos, are you awake? Are you well? What is happening?' He sounded far more unnerved than he had the last time they had spoken, but then Athos had no knowledge of what may have happened whilst he was unconscious. The nausea had failed to subside with the cessation of the ride, and he was now reluctant to admit he probably had a mild concussion – the banging inside his head a fair indication that he was correct.

'I am awake and well, Your Majesty. As to what is happening, I do not know. Someone hit me over the head and that is the last thing I remember, though I seem to have lost my jacket and my weapons belt, somewhere since I was last awake.' The facts as he related them to the King sunk in, and he frowned at the possible implications.

'That is most strange. They made me strip and then dress in peasant rags, though I was most grateful they left me my boots.' Athos almost smiled, amused by the genuine relief shown by the King over this one small concession.

'I, too, have kept my boots,' said Athos, silently thanking anyone who might be looking down upon him that that was the case. He could still feel the cold steel of Milady's dagger, though his flesh was almost too frozen to be unable to distinguish it as such just at the moment.

'What does it mean, Athos? Are we going to be able to escape?' The King's tone held a note of anguish, and Athos wished he could give the King the hope he so obviously needed.

'I will do everything in my power, Your Majesty, but at the moment, I fear such an opportunity will not arise.' The sound of men approaching put both men on their guard, and Athos and the King fell silent. Two men came into the stable and produced a bowl of something hot with a chunk of bread. One of them untied one of Athos' hands, allowing him to eat, then left them to it, with no conversation or any indication of their intent. Athos had considered asking, but with his head already throbbing and his vision poor at best, he was not sure he needed another beating. He scooped up the soup, glad of the heat that began to fill his body, though he doubted the respite would last long.

ooOoo

Milady almost sobbed with relief as she watched them lift the man from the horse, as she had presumed in the gloom, that the animal was merely loaded with baggage, as were the other horses. When the man stood, albeit with the need of assistance, she could hardly believe her eyes. He was dripping wet, clothed only in his shirt and trousers, the pale linen clinging to his body as he shivered in the chill of the night. She should have known. In fact, she _felt _she had known all along, due to the very fact she had _felt_ nothing, when she had always suspected she would be aware on some deeper level when he was no more. Still, she could not help the euphoria that heated her within to see him alive and intact.

Having no time to dwell on emotions, Milady watched them take Athos and the King into an old dilapidated stable block. Whilst she sheltered beneath the trees, wrapped within her cloak, she watched the men stable the horses and baggage in a dry shed, before entering the only solid structure left of the farmhouse.

Soon lights could be seen, and smoke rose from the chimney. Their boldness was disturbing; they made no sign of attempting to avoid discovery. Strange, she would have thought Treville would be near at hand by now. Milady had not left any clues since leaving the burning house, for the party had left a clear trail even a child could follow. It was almost as if they wanted to be found.

She waited until all was quiet. Only two men sat around a fire, talking, and getting up occasionally, to stretch their legs, and wander around the perimeter. However, they were clearly not expecting company, for their manner was far too relaxed. Milady found their casual attitude disturbing – why were they not on the lookout for Treville? Some sixth sense made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. What did they know? Why did they think the Musketeers would not mount a rescue? Something was wrong, but she could not work out what, though some niggling feeling told her that the man she had killed at the hut in the woods, and the mysterious cart, both played some part in their delay.

Suddenly she was forced to accept a prospect she had formerly refused to acknowledge – that she was not going to receive any help at all, and that she was on her own. Milady had no doubt that it was possible to free Athos; even in his condition she knew he would still fight. The King, however, was an unknown quantity. She needed to speak to Athos, she needed his help. She could not do this alone; they needed a plan – this had gone on long enough.

The two men by the fire were engrossed in a heated debate, about what she did not care, as long as they remained preoccupied. She began to make her way between the trees toward the stable block, reassured that she could still hear earnest conversation in the background. Coming to the end of the trees, Milady had no choice now but to move into the open. She had removed her hood as it obscured her vision, and she could afford to miss nothing. The light drizzle had dampened her hair, and she could hear the fire hiss occasionally as it struggled to stay alight in such foul weather.

Fortunately, the two men were now laughing contentedly, impervious to the miserable night. Drawing in a long breath, she slid amongst the shadows, pressing herself close to the brickwork. Her breath caught in her throat as one of the men began to stand, but he had no interest in looking her way. He disappeared amongst the trees whilst his companion made some bawdy remark as he tended the fire and, taking advantage of his distraction, she slipped inside the entrance of the stable block.

The roof had long fallen in, and beams were strewn about the floor. Wooden doors from the horses' stalls now hung from rusted hinges, creaking like old bones as they moved now and again in the night breeze. It was cold, the rain having come with a sharp drop in temperature `– a harsh comparison to the sunshine of earlier. A whispered voice caught her attention, followed by another, much deeper and more abrupt. She smiled to herself, she knew that voice; at least he was awake. As stealthy as a cat, she peered over the low partitions between the stalls. Athos was in the one closest to her, and she guessed the King was in the one next to him.

ooOoo

'Athos,' she whispered, keeping her voice as low and calm as possible, despite the frantic beating of her heart. 'Can you hear me?' For a moment there was a delay, then Athos looked up, peering into the darkness.

'Anne, is that you?' Athos asked, his voice low and earnest. She crept around the edge of the stall and crouched in front of him, managing a smile as she attempted to appear far more confident than she felt.

'Why, what other woman were you expecting? This is hardly the place for a romantic rendezvous.' She tilted her head and Athos managed a quirk of his lips.

'One should always be prepared,' Athos quipped. 'What is happening? Is there no sign of Treville?' He scowled – he, too, was worried by the Captain's delay.

'I do not know. I left plenty of clues so he would find the last camp, but I suppose he may not have found them.' She frowned.

'Porthos would have found them,' Athos smiled.

She nodded. 'Let us hope so. Still, they should have caught up with me by now; the trail from there to here was simple by comparison. I cannot help but feel I have missed something; I just do not know what.'

'They took the King's clothes, my jacket and weapons belt. I have my suspicions as to why, but I am not certain.' He shook his head in frustration.

'I can add to that. I stopped a man in an outbuilding at the spot where they hit you and dragged you away. He had just released his brother – whom he was supposed to kill – given him the King's clothes and told him to ride as fast as he could. He was then meant to join them on the road to the Château de Bois.' She let the information hang in the air, knowing Athos would make the connection to Gaston. When the King spoke, she wished she had spoken more quietly.

'I knew it! I knew that ungrateful wretch of a brother of mine was behind this. I should never have believed rumours of his departure to the continent.' Louis was about to continue his panicked diatribe when Athos intervened.

'Silence, Sire, I fear you will attract attention. Milady de Winter is the only person we have on the outside at this moment, and we cannot afford for her to be captured or killed. This information was enough to silence the King.

'I apologise for my outburst. Pray continue, Milady.' And with that the King fell silent.

Milady looked at Athos – she could almost hear his brilliant mind digesting the information and deciding what they should do. Suddenly she felt tired – she had not slept for almost two days, and the final removal of responsibility was very welcome. Athos looked at her, his eyes narrowing.

'How many of them now?' he asked, a calculating look upon his face.

'Only five,' she answered, trying to sound positive. 'Two of them are sat on guard outside.' Athos quickly worked through a variety of scenarios that might allow them to make an escape. He doubted they would have time to steal a horse, but if the King and Anne could get away, he could hold them off. Milady watched as she saw him reach a decision.

'Take back your knife, you need to untie us, then distract the two men. I will then divert their attention whilst you get the King away.' He looked her in the eye as she slid her hand down his leg to retrieve the hidden dagger and watching closely, he saw understanding register in her face.

'I only have the one horse, the others are in the stable,' she said. 'I shall send the King for mine, whilst I obtain another.' She breathed hard, not wanting to hear his expected refusal.

'_No_!' Athos hissed. 'There is no time. Your job is to get the King to Treville. I think they are coming, but the business with the clothes smells of a decoy trap of some kind, and I am assuming that is what has caused the delay. Ride hard and find them. I can look after myself.' Athos gave her a haughty stare, but she was used to that and it did not intimidate her, in fact just the opposite.

'Athos…' She had cut through his bindings and he suddenly bought a finger up to her lips.

'There is no time to argue. For once, Anne, please just do as I say.' There was a look in his eyes that made her heart ache, and she could not help but put her hand over his, trapping his hand as she gently kissed his fingers.

'There is no need for dramatic gestures either,' she whispered, even though she knew her protest would be in vain.

Athos gave a faint smile. 'I thought women liked heroic gestures? Aramis will be most disappointed.' His voice was almost a whisper, and there was a sadness in his eyes – Milady wanted to rage at him to stop being so self-sacrificing.

But there was little left to be said. She knew her husband would not back down, and she also realised though this was the most reliable plan, that did not mean she had to like it.

'Athos!' This time she did not try to stop him – not unless you could count the burning kiss, for the briefest of moments, when they held onto each other as though this was their last second alive. If she could have, she would gladly have left this earth caught in such a moment. Breathlessly, they broke apart, so many unspoken words between them. Even now, there was too much of everything, too much past for either of them to apologise, or attempt to make things right.

'Athos, Milady de Winter, are you still there? I do not wish to complain, but if we are to move, perhaps we should begin.' The King managed to remain remarkably calm and obliging, and it was enough to break the spell between the two. Milady pulled slowly away, though she allowed her hands to slide down his arms, as though delaying the moment she would have to let go. She watched Athos pull himself to his feet, and a shiver of fear shot through her.

'You are hurt?' she queried. 'Where?' She searched his body for signs of damage; the damp clinging shirt hid nothing, but she could see no sign of a wound. She made to touch him again, but he backed away.

'I am fine, a bump to the head, it is nothing. I am more than equal to a headache.' His sharp tone made her arch her brow, but she said nothing. Had Aramis have heard those words, alarm bells would be ringing loud and clear but, as it was, she simply turned, hurrying to the King's stall to cut through his bonds.

'My lady, I thank you. I must say I am most surprised by your behaviour, but I suppose I should be grateful _someone_ is trying to help.' He rolled his eyes, inferring his annoyance at Treville's laxity.

Gritting her teeth, she replied, smiling deferentially. 'I am at your disposal, Your Majesty, though I believe Captain Treville and his men cannot be far behind.' The King stood and rubbed at his chaffed wrists, and moving slowly, she led him out of the stall to where Athos stood near the doorway.

'Here, you had better have this.' She passed Athos the dagger and then drew a gun from her skirts. The King raised his brow, but Athos did not blink, just slightly quirked his lips.

'It would be best if you did not fire that, not until you are sure of your escape. If I only have to deal with two men…' He left the sentence unfinished, but she understood. He may have a chance if he only had to deal with the two by the fire, but if those inside joined in, without his sword his chances would be slim. She gave a brief nod of her head, to show she understood and then slipped past Athos into the dark. He waited for a moment, until he heard her voice, then pulled the King beside him and slipped outside, scurrying through the shadows into the trees.

That is when their luck ran out. Milady had approached the two men and spoken quietly, hoping not to make them jump and fire first.

'Gentlemen, may I avail myself of your fire?' she asked, her voice low and breathy. The two men turned as one. The taller of the two was obviously shocked, though it did not stop him reaching for his gun, though when he realised it was only a woman he began to smirk. The other man unfortunately did not.

'I know you, I've seen you before. You was with the Queen.' Milady tried not to register her surprise; it had never occurred to her the men might recognise her.

She smiled and wrinkled her brow in surprise. 'I am sorry, I do not understand. I was passing and my horse went lame, I am afraid I do not know the area, and I appear to be lost.' Again, she smiled, a slow seductive smile, though every inch of her screamed to simply shoot them and run after Athos and the King.

'Watch 'er. I tell you somat ain't right about this.' The sceptical, and obviously more intelligent one of the two, began to walk toward the stable block. His colleague was now scowling down at her, his hand hovering once more over his gun.

Milady began to panic. If she shot Mr Sceptic, it would alert the others, and as Athos had her dagger, she could not kill quietly. She cursed herself for not trying a different tack. Movement in the darkness made her gasp, as a dagger flew past her head and imbedded itself in the man's throat. Athos appeared from nowhere and prevented him from falling, holding the inert body before him.

'Go! The King is over there in the tree line, there is no time. GO!' Suddenly he reached grabbing the corpse's gun and fired over her shoulder. He was not Aramis, but he managed to wound the man in the arm. Without being further urged, Milady took off, and finding the King hiding amongst the trees she grabbed his arm.

'Come, Sire, we must go.' But surprisingly Louis stalled.

'Athos, we cannot leave him,' he appealed to Milady, but she was already tugging at his arm.

'Athos knows what he is doing. Come.' The King gave Athos one last look, then followed the woman into the trees.

Athos knew he had lost any element of surprise. However, there were now only three men left, and even if Timot and Bisset were amongst them, he had fought and survived worse odds; but then he had been able to see, and at the moment, unless they were really close to him, one man looked like two. The door to the farmhouse flew open and the three men filed out, their expressions one of shock as they saw Athos standing over the dead body of one of their number. Those looks soon turned to anger. Athos pulled the sword from the dead man and prepared, he only had to keep them busy.

However, Timot, ever the cunning bastard, had other ideas. 'Bissett, the King cannot be far, go search the wood.' Bissett nodded and ran for the trees. Athos glared but there was nothing he could do. He marched forward and indicated they should advance. He then bowed, raised his sword to his forehead - the recognised pledge of honour -and with a wicked grin, made the first move.

ooOoo

Milady pulled the King after her, but he was tired and undernourished, his breath already coming in gasps. Her own breathing hitched as she heard the sound of someone breaking through the undergrowth behind her.

'Come, Your Majesty, someone is behind us, we must hurry. The horse is just a little ahead. Come, Sire.' She pulled and tugged, but the King was tiring, his lungs labouring. The ground was slippery, and they struggled to keep their footing; the King's boots, though fine, were never intended for such terrain.

Whoever was chasing them was getting closer, and Milady knew they may not reach the horse in time. Changing her mind, she pushed the King behind her, just as a shot rang out and chunks of wood shot into the air, and she felt a sharp sting as splinters caught her face and neck. Angry, she crouched and fired. A slight grunt was the only reply, and she knew she had not inflicted any severe damage. Turning to climb the small rise, she pulled the now terrified King behind her. Unable to find any grip in the mud, Louis slipped, pulling her with him. She lunged for an overhanging branch and managed to hold on, but the hand that was holding hers slipped, and the King was unable to regain his footing on the slick slope. Suddenly, the man following them broke cover. Blood ran down his face, but only from a graze on his head. He threw himself at the King, managing to grab his ankle, just as Milady reached for him.

'Your Majesty, take my hand, NOW!' she cried, trying to grab at the hand flailing toward her. When the King was jerked back down the slope, she picked up a rock close to hand, and hurled it at the attacker. It caught him on the side of the head, but he managed to hold on – if anything, he seemed to gain a tighter grip and the King was slowly being pulled out of her reach. The sound of swordplay in the background told her Athos was still alive, but for how long she did not know. She was about to go after the monarch, when a flash of light glinted in the dark. Bissett had produced a knife from somewhere, and was trying to threaten Louis, but he, too, was struggling in the mud, which was only being made worse by their struggles.

Louis saw the knife in his peripheral vision and made a harsh choice. 'Run, Milady, there is nothing you can do here. Find Treville, FIND HIM!' Having made his decision, Louis rolled over and began to struggle with the man, buying her time to run. She did not waste it. One thing she had learnt that had kept her alive was knowing when to retreat, and that time was now. Everything had gone wrong. She found firm ground and heard the gentle snort of her horse. She almost flew onto his back, pulling at the reins and urging him into a gallop. This was no time to be squeamish about low lying branches, there was far too much at stake.

ooOoo

'Keep still, you privileged bastard, or I will slice your royal throat,' Bissett growled, finally bringing the knife to the King's neck. Louis froze, and the man cried out, 'I've got the King, I've got 'im.'

Athos heard the cry and stilled for a second. Timot backed off, the other man now lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Athos growled; as if things were not bad enough, Timot had taunted him with his own sword. Blood bubbled in the swordsman's veins, but he had kept it controlled and let it flow down his arm and through his weapon. Timot would have been dead by now, but he had merely danced around, keeping beyond Athos' reach, and with Athos' concussion and poor visibility, he needed his opponents up close in order to be accurate. When Bisset shouted, he knew the chance for escape had passed. Reluctantly, Athos dropped his weapon and waited for Timot's response. The man walked up to the swordsman and placed Athos' own sword at his throat.

'I am beginning to think you are not worth the money I could get from you. Still, before I kill you, you can explain how you managed to escape… and who helped you.' With that, he landed a crunching right hook underneath Athos' chin, making his head explode, stars blinding his already diminished sight. The man with the gunshot wound to the arm who had held back from the fighting, now arrived and, pushing his own gun into Athos' side, he prodded him back toward the stable. When they reached the stall, the man looked at the ring, then back at Athos. His one arm had limited use and Athos groaned as he guessed what was about to follow. He recoiled and in doing so may have saved his life, as he feared he would not have withstood another harsh blow without permanent damage. The blow when it came was a glancing one, though it was enough to drive him to his knees, his vision disappearing to a pin prick. By the time he regained his senses, his hands were re-tied – tight.

ooOoo

At some point the rain had fallen once more. The downpour had not long ceased, and the ground was boggy. Damp leaves and mud clung to her where she had fallen, leaves scratched at her neck where they had caught in her hair, and traces of blood remained where the splinters had entered her skin, but she ignored it all. Milady had allowed her horse to slow to a trot, and though she held the reins, she no longer guided the animal. Staring at some point in the distance, though seeing nothing, she had not even noticed he had come to a stop until he dipped his head to chew the wet grass, causing her to sway just a little. Drops still fell from the canopy above, running down her cheeks, but at least that meant she did not have to acknowledge the tears that now mingled with them.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Athos was hurled on to the floor of the stall with little concern about whether it inflicted damage. However, it wasn't that which made his spirit dip, but the arrival of Bisset, grinning and bearing a stout wooden chair, which Athos somehow doubted was for anyone's comfort. He watched whilst the King was dragged back into the same stall. It was becoming rather crowded – Timot, Bisset, the man he had shot in the shoulder and the King. Still, at least they were both still alive!

'So, who is she?' Timot asked, once Athos had been secured to the chair. Athos adopted a ferocious glower, not because he hoped to intimidate, but simply because he was getting extremely pissed off.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. 'A good Samaritan.' He was holding Timot's gaze when Bisset delivered an impressive blow to Athos' stomach. As the air was forced from his lungs, he gave a harsh groan, but he would not give them the satisfaction of admitting how much pain it had caused his already bruised ribs.

Timot gave a cold smile. 'Of course, a woman just happened to stop by, find you in a worrying predicament, set you free, gave you a weapon and helped you escape. Truly a paragon of virtue.'

Athos could not prevent a slight snort of amusement escaping his lips – his wife, a paragon of virtue! The irony was more than amusing, though he regretted his reaction when Bisset's fist impacted with his chin. His head whipped back, gagging as the metal tang of blood filled his mouth. He spat it onto the floor and glared at his captors.

'As you say, most accommodating.' He knew he was courting trouble, but what could he do?

No blow came, and Athos found that more worrying.

Timot turned to the injured man and spoke, not trying to keep his conversation quiet, just the opposite.

'Duval and Fabre, they have just arrived have they not? Send them after her, NOW! I want information after that…' he shrugged his shoulders and smirked. The injured man reacted immediately rushing from the stall. 'We _will _find her. I hear she is quite the beauty, not that it really matters, I am sure she will provide plenty of _sport_ before they kill her.'

Athos knew they wanted a reaction, and though right now he would have liked nothing more than to rip the man's throat out, he moved his fists so the rope ground into his already raw wrists, rather than allow his true feelings to show.

'So stoic. Well perhaps we should expect nothing less from you. Perhaps our royal visitor may be more forthcoming.' With a nod of his head, Bisset moved over to the quivering King. Covered in mud from head to foot, Louis bore no resemblance to the familiar monarch. As Bisset pulled back his fist Louis shouted.

'No! I will tell you what you want to know.' Athos tried to turn his head to give the King the full effect of his disdain, but a backhanded slap from Timot, halted his efforts.

'Leave him, please, I will talk. She is one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, her name is Milady de Winter. I know nothing more about her, she joined our household only recently.' The King's words came out in one breath and he now beseeched Timot with frightened eyes to accept his statement.

'So, you expect me to believe one of the Queen's women, working alone, followed us, and risked getting killed to free you both? She must be a most dedicated royalist to take such a gamble.' He paced back and forth for a moment before facing Athos once more. 'We will see what transpires. We have a meeting to keep on the morrow. After that we will see…' With that, he left the building, but Bisset did not immediately follow.

'Timot says you will fetch a pretty penny as a hired fighter, or perhaps a slave fighter for entertainment. That is the only reason I am not allowed to break both your arms and legs. Still, that don't mean I can't spoil that pretty face.' That being said, he gave Athos a fierce punch, splitting his eye, leaving blood running freely down the swordsman's face. He was about to strike again when a voice from outside interrupted him.

'Bisset, leave him, you can have your fun later. We have much to discuss.' As Bisset moved reluctantly toward the door, Athos stared the man out, though it was not his best effort with one eye closed.

'This is not over, Musketeer,' he laughed. 'Oh, I forgot, you aren't even that.' His laughter echoed in the darkness as they left, taking the lighted torches with them. Athos was glad of the darkness as he did not want the King to see the desolate expression on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the King spoke. 'Athos...' but Athos was really not in the mood.

'Forgive me, Your Majesty, I really would be grateful for quiet. I need to think.' The night then settled into stillness, with only the constant patter of rain falling through the non-existent roof and the occasion snicker from the horses interrupting the silence.

ooOoo

Milady sat atop her horse, her head reliving the disastrous escape over, and over again. Suddenly, a startled animal burst through the undergrowth, causing the grazing horse to stamp and rear. Instinct kicked in and she took a firm hold of the reins, controlling the horse for the first time in what seemed an age. The action shook her back to reality, and gazing around, she was not quite sure how she had arrived at the spot where she found herself. She shook her head and lifted up her face to receive the raindrops falling from the sodden branches. The cool drops registered and soothed her tired, sore eyes, and calmed her. Slowly she urged her horse forward, looking for a place to get a little shelter. Shivering, she realised just how cold and wet she was.

Guiding the animal through the trees, she spotted the remains of an old gamekeeper's hut. Remnants of dead birds still hung from a line, though their condition suggested no one had hung anything new for a very long time. She tethered the horse and pushed hard at the door. It moved only begrudgingly, but with a hard shove it eventually gave, and she fell into the dark interior.

The smell was not pleasing, and was not even a scent she dared identify, but amazingly the roof was intact, and the floor was dry. An old cot lay against the wall, and she sank down upon it as though it were a four-poster bed, simply grateful for somewhere to rest. Her arms and legs ached from the struggle through the mud, and she was so very tired. But worse still she had failed. Something in the revelation made her angry; failure was not something she accepted – she hated failure. No matter how her rage burned inside her, even her fury could not overtake the fatigue. Fighting to stay awake, she tried to form some sort of plan, but her eyes were too heavy, and she was too cold. Tentatively, she felt around, too weary to stand and make a more thorough search, and her freezing fingers touched something rough – an old blanket. Relieved, she pulled it over her shivering form, at last finally giving in and allowing sleep to take hold.

ooOoo

Athos sat and watched the sky begin to clear, as one-by-one stars began to blink in the blackness overhead. At some point he must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes again, the sky was grey and showing the first golden hues of dawn.

His one eye was closed, but whether from damage or the crusted blood Athos could not tell. He considered himself lucky, but for how long that luck would continue to hold, he did not dare consider. He supposed they would be here soon. Milady had told him of the plan to travel to Château de Bois, and he suspected there could only be one reason for such a plan, though he found the idea of such a bold plot surprising, as it was not like Gaston to be so hands-on.

The King still slept, and for that at least he was grateful.

Anne, what had happened to her? He had no doubt at all they would enjoy telling him if they had caught her, though he hoped she would be skilled enough to evade them. If anyone could, he suspected it would be her. Never had he wished so much to see Aramis' annoyingly cheerful face, and even Porthos growling at him for being stupid would cheer his soul. He really needed them now.

ooOoo

Darkness, and being forced to admit they had no idea where they were, had forced Treville and the two Musketeers to camp for the night. Though they took turns to keep watch, not one of them slept. Everything about this trip had gone wrong from the very beginning. Leaving too early without enough men; having to take the two rookies; not being able to follow Athos and the King straight away, and falling for the decoy King, when the ruse should have been obvious. Not to mention losing Athos.

Aramis lay on his bedding and thought back to the night he had first encountered the swordsman; drunk, but still able to put on a spectacular display, helping him defend an unconscious Porthos. Aramis had known straight away there was something about the man that intrigued him. So much had happened since then, and now he could not imagine being a Musketeer without Athos – a realisation that threatened to take him to the brink of despair.

Porthos sat staring past the fire, to avoid the glow impairing his night vision. Athos had caused him angst right from the very start. Unlike Aramis, he had not been so quick to trust the brooding swordsman, but now, now he was as loved as any brother.

Yes, he moaned at him, shouted at him, but only because Porthos could not bear to see Athos continuously hurl himself from one disaster to another. But that was Athos: no care for his own safety, no feeling of self-worth, and that's what frustrated and angered Porthos. After everything, Athos still refused to see who he really was.

Now he was gone, just like that, and Porthos hadn't been there to help him. That knife would twist in his gut forever, festering until he could not stand it any longer, and he did not know how he would cope.

The blackness was beginning to fade to a darker shade of grey when Treville gave up on the idea of sleep. He nodded to Porthos, who was banking up the fire to heat water. Stretching slowly, he walked around the camp, making a show of checking the horses, but he just needed to do something, anything. The image of that pyre blazed behind hie eyes, searing into his memory, and even before they had the proof before them, he had sensed the loss; he had known what they would find.

Oh, Athos, did you goad them too far? Did you try and keep their attention away from the King? Or were you just too much trouble for them? He stroked the mane of the black stallion standing still under the shelter of the trees, and the horse snorted as though he, too, felt a sense of loss. Milady had taken Treville's, so he was now riding Athos' beast, and at least the animal gave him some connection to the man, to the one he had privately thought of as a son.

However, grieving would have to wait – they had a job to do, and he intended to see it done. And should he have the chance to enjoy a little revenge, then that would be a bonus.

Treville returned to the fire, where Aramis and Porthos were pouring steaming water into cups, one of which they handed to the Captain. As they stood together in the flickering light, all three men bore the signs of a difficult night.

'What now?' Porthos barked, his anger still simmering close to the surface.

'We return to the place where we turned to follow the decoy; then we keep going. Either we find the trail, or perhaps a sign from _her_. If she is still bothering to follow. We find the King and we end this.' Treville gave both men a thunderous look and they indicated their assent.

They doused the remains of the fire, prepared the horses, and a short time later they were retracing their path through the wood. Luckily, their earlier haste had left enough visible destruction to follow. When they eventually found the main road, they urged their mounts into a gallop. Time was now their main enemy.

ooOoo

Milady awoke, and for a few moments, she could not work out where she was. When realisation struck, she jumped from the bed, groaning at the stiffness and aching in her cramped limbs. The fingers on her left hand complained bitterly, a painful reminder of her failure, her inability to keep her hold of the King. Her body stiffened, responding to some heightened sense, and reacting automatically to a suspected noise, she reached for her pistol. When Milady saw the condition of her powder she moaned in frustration. Damp – she was not likely to shoot anyone soon, and oh, how she wanted to. Pulling her still wet hood over her head, she slid out into the grey dawn; though the sky was streaked with gold, no sun yet shone. Reaching under her skirts for her dagger, she cursed once more as she remembered it was last seen stuck in the jugular of one of the kidnappers. Still, at least Athos had put it to good use – he always had been skilled at throwing a knife.

She kept close to the hut, and hearing the whinny from her horse behind her, she darted behind the trees, just as two men emerged from the rear, creeping toward the door. She needed a plan, and she needed it quickly, but without a weapon her options were limited. If she ran for her horse, they would follow, and she could not be sure of the outcome. Or she could detain them somehow.

This time, she was not going to walk up to them as she had done before; that had not worked out at all. Her foot hit against something hard and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from crying out. A large, jagged rock stuck out from the leafy floor and a slow smile escaped her perfect lips.

Holding it firmly in her grip, she struggled as far as the wall of the hut. She had to time this just right. Her breathing came in gulps and her heart hammered against her ribs. She raised the large stone as high as she could, then coughed. She only had to wait for a couple of seconds before one of the men emerged through the opening. Come on, just a little further, just a little more, Milady thought to herself. When he was barely clear of the door, she struck out, bringing the stone down upon his head, whilst simultaneously kicking the door. At last lady luck was with her, as the unconscious man fell back against the wooden structure, effectively blocking the exit for his irate colleague.

Milady pushed the rock against the door for good measure and was about to leave when something caught her eye. The man's sword was trapped beneath his body, the hilt of which she would have recognised anywhere. He was a dead weight, but after a brief struggle she managed to free the sword, whilst all the time the man inside beat on the door, cursing her and threatening a horrible death. She did not waste the opportunity, taking his knife and his powder, though his gun she tossed into the trees as she had her own, and now she had ammunition too. Feeling far more positive, she ran for her horse and, mounting as quickly as she was able, she wheeled the animal around and headed back in the direction she had come. Back to the Athos and the King.

ooOoo

When the man with the gunshot wound returned for Athos and the King after sunrise, it was clear something had not gone well. He was nervy and made no attempt to hide it, waving his knife around to enforce his demands, pushing first the King, then Athos toward the waiting horses. Bisset and Timot were arguing. Bisset made the mistake of pushing Timot, who pulled his gun and thrust it under Bisset's chin.

'Do not ever touch me again, am I clear?' Timot's voice was low and menacing. Bisset simply gave a slight nod, afraid anything more vigorous might take his head off. However, it did not stop him from cutting furious eyes at Timot as the man stalked away to mount his horse.

Athos was delighted. So they had come to falling out, that was good news. They were edgy, and not so confident for some reason. He noted that the two men sent for his wife had not returned, and whether that was good news or not, he did not know.

With Athos and the King tethered, the party rode away. As he looked around, the swordsman had the feeling he knew where they were. If he was right, then the caves he, Aramis and Porthos had taken shelter in when they had been sent to collect Gaston, were back along the road. They must have passed the ravine in the dark, as they were now entering the flat land on either side with woodland just a little way off. De Bois was not far.

This was Bisset's old stomping ground, but whether that would prove relevant he was not sure. They rode for some time and the sun began to rise in the sky; it was the blue of spring, the blue of forget-me-nots. Athos felt a twist inside at the thought of what might be happening. If they killed her, he would make them pay, long, hard and painfully. He may want to kill her himself, but it was his task, no one else's.

It was growing warm, a welcome event, as their clothes were still damp from last night's rain, but Athos was not sure even the sun could remove the deep chill that had settled in his bones. The King had remained silent ever since Athos had asked for peace and quiet the night before and Athos wondered if it was all becoming a little too much for the pampered monarch. The failed escape seemed to have stolen his will to survive, and if that were the case, it was not a rescue Athos would have to organise, but a massacre. He feared the threat from the kidnappers would have to be removed before he could urge the King to run again.

The sun had almost reached its zenith when Timot ordered them to halt and Athos prayed they would be given water. His mouth was so dry he was having trouble swallowing and the stale taste of blood was making his stomach uneasy.

As the party came to a stop, both of them were taken from their horses and thrown to the ground. The earth felt dry, but the damp soon began to seep through, making it anything but comfortable.

'The King needs food and water,' Athos managed to croak, though he found it hard to force the words out of his parched mouth. The King shot Athos a grateful look, as a cup was placed in his bound hands, now tied before him. He was able to raise the cup to his lips and he drank greedily, chewing on the chunk of bread and cheese that followed.

Athos thought the man was going to leave him without, but he filled another glass and handed it to the swordsman not saying a word, though no food was forthcoming.

'I am sorry, Athos. Please have my cheese.' The King held out the small morsel, and Athos was sorely tempted.

'Most gracious, Your Majesty, but I am fine. Please eat it while you can.' The King smiled and demolished the scrap instantly.

As they sat there, allowing the warmth of the sun to ease their stiff limbs, two horses approached. Athos' heart began to thud painfully behind his sore ribs; both of them had returned and they had been gone for hours. What that meant he dared not contemplate. He heard them whispering with Timot, but the man had his back to them, and Athos could not make out their conversation.

Timot and Bisset began to remount, and this time the two who had just joined them came to manhandle them onto their horses.

When Athos and the King were mounted, one of them spoke.

'Your woman was a little she-devil, but we tamed her good. She was begging for the end before we finished her. Those large, dark eyes pleading and crying. Oh, we had a good time right up to the end.' He began to chortle, but it was the King who spoke.

'Enough, she was a gentle woman. You are disgusting!' The man laughed even louder.

'Oh, we were _real_ gentle too.' Then he looked Athos in the eye – the swordsman had made no reaction at all. 'God, but you're a cold bastard. Don't know why she bothered.' With that he returned to the others and mounted.

'Do you not have anything to say? Why are you not angry?' The King eyed Athos with horror at his lack of emotion.

Athos gave the slightest quirk of his lips. 'Because her eyes are green, a beautiful shade of green, like a cat… and she would _never_ beg.' With that, he urged his horse along with the others. Convinced they had lied; he was now able to concentrate on a plan.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

They had set up a base on the outskirts of Château de Bois, somewhere on the estate in a small empty cottage, and the château was now in sight. Athos was tired of being pushed around; in fact, he had had quite enough long before this, but he felt sure that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen fairly soon.

Sitting on the floor of the empty room, Athos considered his options. He would not give up on Treville and his brothers; he knew they would risk the fires of hell to rescue them. All he had to do was to keep himself and the King alive until they did.

'Your Majesty, I am going to ask you to be watchful. If I see an opportunity, I may not be able to give you much of a warning.' Athos spoke slowly and calmly, as if speaking to a child. The King had become increasingly silent and submissive, and the swordsman was worried the monarch no longer paid attention to what went on around him.

The King looked up, dark eyes not quite as focused as they should be. Still, he gave a slight nod and continued to huddle, knees pulled into his chest, staring at the wall, lost inside himself. Not encouraging at all. It was mid-afternoon when they had settled into the cottage, and they could not have been in the empty room for long, when Athos heard the sound of booted feet approaching. He instinctively stiffened – so it began.

Timot entered, and it was obvious he had made some attempt to improve his appearance, the clothes he wore being slightly better in cut and condition than previously. So, this was it, whatever he had planned was imminent.

'We are going for a ride. You,' he spat, pointing at Athos, 'are not needed. Stay here and keep quiet, or my men have orders to gag you, or shoot you if they have to.' Timot smiled at his remark and walked over to the King.

Athos had no intention of staying anywhere; he did not want to let the King out of his sight.

'What if _I_ kill _them_ instead?' Athos replied, his slow, drawn out vowels making the statement sound every bit like a threat.

Timot turned and appraised the swordsman's cold stare, uncertainty flitting across his features. But something in Athos' expression must have worried him just enough.

'Very well, you come with us, but if you try _anything_, the King dies.' Athos made no response this time, merely holding Timot's gaze with his own – just a little insolent and just a little smug.

The King was given a cursory brush down; they obviously did not want him to look as though he had been mistreated. One-by-one, they were lifted onto their horses. This time, the King was allowed a little more dignity, his demeanour so meek they no longer considered him any threat at all. Athos was a different story; they had tied his hands tight, his wrists so raw he now no longer felt the pain, though the warmth in his left arm was rather worrying. He dismissed the thought from his mind – risk of infection was beyond his control.

The small party – Bisset, Timot and the one called Fabre, the man who had tried to convince Athos of Milady's fate – rode in silence up the long drive toward the Château. Athos could not help but turn his mind back to the last time they had ridden this way. It had been a freezing day in December, and they were there to deliver an invitation for Gaston to attend the King's party – and look how that had turned out.

Athos studied the area closely – nothing much seemed to have changed in the interim. The grounds were mostly formal and ornamental, and the driveway was long, with an ostentatious fountain in front of the main doorway. Gaston would have his own men, so he did not want to begin any kind of escape under such circumstances. However, it did not help to be prepared.

As he thought back, he experienced a sensation almost like déjà vu – he had ached all over last time too. However, now at least the concussion had improved and his vision was normal, and he intended to miss nothing. As they approached, the château glowed in the afternoon light; it actually looked quite welcoming, but somehow, he doubted that would prove the case.

Timot dismounted, and Athos and the King were yet again pulled from their horses. Athos vowed there would be some payback, and in the not too distant future, for the times they had done this. For now, he was held back, whilst the King was pushed to the front, just behind Timot.

They stood together waiting for someone to answer the door. When the large wooden portal eventually opened, the major domo stood in the entrance and cast his eyes over the assembled crowd.

'May I help you? If you are travelling entertainers, we have no need of you…' Before he could finish, Timot interrupted.

'I have business with the Duke. Important business.' The servant stood his ground whilst he considered the statement then, with a look of distrust, shut the door, his footsteps echoing behind the solid wood.

They waited only a couple of minutes before the hallway was revealed once more. This time there was no sign of the servant; the man standing before them was dressed in fine clothes, and was obviously part of Gaston's entourage.

'I am sorry, the Duke has no memory of making an appointment.' He had still not given the rest of the party more than a cursory glance and was preparing to close the door when Timot spoke up.

'I have a present for him. Tell him I am ready to fulfil the rest of my obligation, and then I want the rest of my money. Tell him I will not stand out here much longer.' He let his hand fall to his gun, and the man on the doorstep ceased to look quite so confident.

Again the door was closed, and Timot began to get restless.

Interesting, Athos thought, so Gaston knew nothing of this after all. How would the conniving brother of the King react to such a bold move? He guessed he was about to find out.

Once more the door opened, this time much wider, and the man was now gesticulating they should enter, though his eyes were wary and a small tick below his eye gave away his discomfiture. This time he gave each man a much closer inspection, and when his eyes settled on the King they stared in shock, his expression turning from mere distrust to one of horror.

'Oh mercy!' He looked back at Timot, who was now smirking much like a man who was far too close to losing his mind – a situation which could affect their future either way. 'Please, wait one moment.' He licked his lips, his eyes darting back to the mud plastered monarch. The man was obviously not sure whether or not to acknowledge the King's presence.

Still looking uncomfortable, he scurried off through a doorway and they were left alone once more. His patience having long run out, Timot was about to follow when Gaston emerged through one of the many passageways.

'What is the meaning of this?' Whilst he addressed the statement to Timot, his gaze ran over the entire party.

'Oh, my God, Louis!' Gaston looked as though he had seen a ghost. 'What have you done?' He turned back to Timot. 'Are you mad? You have kidnapped the King! We will all lose our heads.' He turned back to his brother, who had now begun to take more interest in the goings on.

'Brother, I had no part in this. Please, you have to believe me. Are you well? Are you hurt?' He made a movement toward the King; whose expression was now full of hope.

Timot had other ideas. 'Now, now, let us not be hasty. You hired me to do a job, but that job was interrupted, shall we say, and because of that, you never gave me the rest of my money. Now I had plans for that remuneration; I was going to take myself off to somewhere warm and start a new life. So how about I finish the job here and now and you hand it over?' With that, he raised his gun to the King's head.

'No, no, definitely not. I do not know what you are talking about.' Gaston was now panicking; his eyes were wild and beads of sweat broke out along his hairline, eyes darting between his brother and Timot.

'I see. So that is how you wish to play this.' Suddenly a shot rang out and the man who had opened the door the second time, and who had been standing a little behind Gaston, fell to the floor in an ever-increasing pool of blood. Gaston cried out in terror.

'What are you doing? You have killed the Comte de Gerard! Are you mad Timot?' Gaston was now so white he was almost translucent.

'I thought you did not know what I was talking about? And yet you know my name,' replied Timot, gloating over the Duke's mistake.

Gaston's eyes narrowed. 'Whatever contract you may, or may not, imagine we might have had, would no longer exist – if it ever existed at all – which of course it did not,' he gabbled. He was in a hole, and everyone knew it.

'Are you admitting to having hired this man to kill me?' At last Louis sounded more like the King whom Athos was used to hearing. Standing in front of his little brother, the monarch obviously did not wish to appear downtrodden and defeated.

'No, brother, obviously not. This man is deluded.' The harsh and distinctive sound of a pistol being primed stopped his declaration and caused everyone to freeze.

'No, no, I will give you money, though I know nothing of your plot. Do not shoot!' Gaston pleaded; any semblance of self-control having now disappeared. Timot gave a cold smile, but before he could fire, a different voice rang out. Everyone turned as one, and Athos moaned, appalled at this new turn of events.

A tiny, birdlike woman stood in one of the doorways leading off the wide expanse of hallway. Holding a walking cane, she stared at the party, but did not see them, her sightless eyes looking slightly away from them.

'What is going on? Did I, or did I not, hear a gunshot?' She may have been small, but her aura was mighty. Gaston looked horrified, his eyes pleading with Timot to be discreet.

'It is nothing, Godmama, just an accident,' Gaston offered, his brittle voice wavering slightly. Tilting her small head to one side, the woman frowned, and Louis could not contain himself any longer.

'Aunt Lilly, it is I, Louis.' Fabre, who was holding on to the King, gave the monarch a slap, causing Timot to aim a long, cold glare in his direction.

'Louis, is that really you? Did someone just slap you?' Her haughty voice was filled with vexation. 'Gaston, I insist you tell me what is happening. Why did you not tell me your brother was arriving? You tell me nothing.' Tutting in frustration, she began to move slowly into the room, as Timot moved his pistol in her direction.

But Athos had no intention of letting the elderly Marchioness come to any harm. They had met last time he was here, and she had taken a particular fancy to him, much to the amusement of Aramis and Porthos. The godmother of Gaston, she lived at the château in permanent isolation.

'My Lady it is a pleasure to see you again. Please do not concern yourself, the King is safe and well. These men simply wish to talk with the Duke, then we will leave you in peace.' With that he issued a deadly glare to any that dared intervene, and even Timot dropped his smug demeanour.

'Monsieur Athos, is that you? A beam lit up her lined face, and she almost glowed. Come, come, you must tell me what I have missed in Paris.'

'Perhaps later, Your Grace, for now I think it would be best to leave the King and his brother to their discussion. I will seek you out later, if I may be permitted?' Athos' voice had taken on the arrogance and tone of a member of the aristocracy, and both the King and Timot gave him a questioning look.

'Very well, Athos, if you say it should be so. I will look forward to it. Louis, it is so good to hear your voice, I do hope you will have time to speak with me before you leave. I do so miss Paris.' With a doleful sigh, the old lady turned and left the hallway, everyone seeming to let out a collective breath as she did so. It appeared even these men drew the line at killing an old woman in cold blood, though Athos had no doubt Timot would have done, had he considered her a real threat.

Timot and Gaston stood face-to-face, neither speaking. At last Gaston gave way.

'Very well, you can have your money, but not here and not now. You need to get away from my estate. Whatever you do… cannot happen here.' He searched Timot's expression for signs of compliance.

'Where do you suggest?' the ringleader asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. He made a show of examining the hallway, waving his pistol as he spoke. 'This floor should clean up quite easily, but it looks like you already have quite a lot of that to do already.' He gave a throaty chuckle, though there was no warmth or genuine amusement in the sound. Gaston looked at the party, in particular at the King.

The Duke began to speak. Though his voice was ragged and his breathing rapid he tried to keep his head high, though he could no longer hold his brother's gaze, 'There is a château not far from here, the Château de Brun. The family died out and, ironically, the place now belongs to the Crown. It is empty and isolated, and it also has a moat.' He made the last sentence sound casual, as if he were trying to point out its interesting features to a prospective purchaser, but the inference was not lost on anyone.

'You were always weak and despicable, brother. My mistake was forgiving you – I should have taken your head the first time. Make no mistake, when I get out of this, you are a dead man.' Louis stood tall and spoke with all the authority of the King of France. Athos hoped his backbone would last.

Gaston smiled for the first time, even if it was a rather feeble effort. 'I had no hand in this, brother, but they do say never to look a gift horse in the mouth.' He issued a nervous laugh and then looked at Timot. 'I will bring the money at dawn.' With that, he turned, practically running from the hallway, leaving the party standing alone – apart from the slowly chilling body of the Comte.

ooOoo

Treville and the Musketeers had ridden hard. The ground was boggy, recent horse tracks showing clearly in the muddy road, and the three men slowed, allowing them to study the marks more closely.

'By the depth of the print, I would say the rider was going at speed,' Treville pointed out. 'The weather has been dry for several hours, so these marks could only have been made this morning. Whoever it was – and they may have nothing to do with this – is not too far ahead.' He did not wait for the others' reaction, urging Athos' horse back into a gallop.

True enough, they had not ridden far when the tracks appeared to become part of a much larger party. The recent prints they had been following appeared to have been made over the top, but that was all the ground disclosed.

Looking around, they were hopeful there might be more evidence to assist their search. However, it was not the signs of horses which they suddenly found so interesting, but the hurriedly extinguished fire and the abandoned cottage which stood in a small enclave of trees.

Tethering the horses, they split up and began to move closer toward the house. There was no sound other than the birds above and the slight rustle of leaves. The trees cast long shadows, and closer to the house the sun did not reach the moss-covered walls. The building stood grey and desolate, its dark, blind windows staring sightlessly out upon the approaching Musketeers.

Aramis reached the structure first and, crouching down, he crept beneath the window, listening for any sound that would indicate people within. Nothing. Porthos appeared around the far corner and shook his head, signalling that he hadn't discovered anything either.

Treville soon joined them. 'The fire has long been cold; from last night I should say.' He scrutinised the remaining outbuildings, indicating they should check them before entering the main house.

The three men did not need to go far inside before the metallic stench of blood and the sick accompanying smell of death, assaulted their nostrils.

Aramis caught Porthos' attention, and they slid along the wall toward the small room at the back of the storage shed.

Two bodies lay on the floor, both unknown to them. Their sigh of relief was immediate, but they still dropped to the floor, intent on examining the corpses for any information they could yield.

Both men had been stripped of any weaponry they might have had. Neither of them was particularly old, nor particularly young, in fact there was nothing distinguishing about them at all – unless you counted the manner in which they had died.

'This one's been stabbed in the neck with a small dagger,' Porthos pointed out.

'Interesting, I would say mine had been run through with a sword, but that would make little sense.' Aramis looked up at the other two men, who appeared equally perplexed.

'A falling out amongst thieves?' Treville suggested.

'Well it would have to have been a considerable falling out. If one of these two stabbed the other, then surely a third would have had to have been involved to kill the second?' Aramis considered his explanation for a moment, not sure it made any sense.

'If I could follow what you were sayin' I might agree,' Porthos snorted. 'What is interestin' is this dagger; it is hardly the possession of a hardened criminal. This is more the weapon of a woman.' He watched to see if the two men came to the same conclusion as him.

'Milady?' Treville asked, and Porthos raised a brow to suggest he considered it to be a possibility.

'If Milady kills bad man number one, who runs bad man number two through with a sword? The King?' Aramis asked. All three men's faces bore the same incredulous expression. It was not that the King was a coward, or that he could not handle a sword, it was simply that the thought of him overpowering his kidnappers in this way was rather a stretch of the imagination.

The Musketeers stood looking down at the corpses, not one of them wishing to voice what was in their heads. Eventually Porthos spoke.

'Now, if Athos had been here…' His voice trailed off. He had been reluctant to even suggest such a thing, but it did fit the scenario.

Aramis spoke up with enthusiasm. 'Perhaps you are right, it would make perfect sense.' His face had lit with hope and Treville could hardly bear to look.

'We know that is not possible,' the Captain affirmed, but he did not get the chance to say anything else.

'Why? Because we found a sword belt and some buttons? None of that is really proof. What if we were supposed to think that? What if we were wrong?' Aramis' voice was desperate with hope, having now grabbed on to the possibility of Athos being alive. Treville feared he would not be turned from his belief so easily now the possibility had been suggested.

'Let us look around, search everywhere, miss nothing,' Treville grunted, stalking off to examine the main house.

Aramis turned to Porthos. 'What do you think?' The big Musketeer looked distressed.

'I'm not sure what to think. I know I can't go through mournin' him again, but it is possible. What if we are wrong though? What if it was the King?' He spoke quietly and tried to appeal to Aramis' sense of caution, but it was too late, the marksman had made up his mind.

Without answering his friend, Aramis turned and left the room, following Treville, desperate to find more evidence to prove Athos might still be alive.

There was little in the main house, other than detritus that indicated someone had been staying there in the last couple of days, though apart from empty bottles and remnants of food, there was little to reveal any clue as to what may have transpired. Treville stood for a moment looking out of the grimy windows on to the almost picturesque clearing. He sighed as he watched Aramis head into the trees; he knew just how much the man wanted Athos to be alive, good God so did he. But could it be so? Had they been so cruelly deceived?

Like Porthos, he wanted the possibility to be a reality, he wanted it badly, but he dared not put any validity in the option, for the reality would cause only more pain – all over again.

'Captain! Come, you need to see this!' Treville heard Porthos bellow and ran back to the outbuilding, where the big man had remained to examine the other rooms. He found Porthos crouching on the floor in another part of the building, next to where they had found the two corpses. There was a chair on its side but little else, apart from the severed rope that Porthos now held suspended in his large hands, a grin splitting his face from ear-to-ear. Treville saw the man's smile and his heart squeezed.

'What have you discovered?' His question came out more sharply than he had intended, but he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

'This rope was over in the corner. The way it's been knotted and then cut, would suggest someone's 'ands 'ave been tied. There is a trace of blood, but nothin' of note.' He moved over to the chair and stood it back upright. 'Now this chair 'as several drops of blood, and there's more blood on the floor too. There was rope still attached to the legs, and rope loose on the floor, again from wrists by the length and the way it was knotted.'

He watched Treville closely. The Captain breathed a little heavily, but other than that said nothing. Porthos carried on. 'This 'ere rope on the floor.' He pulled a face. 'Whoever's 'ands were tied with this, they are probably in a mess, lot of blood, and the blood on the floor suggests they were probably beaten.' Porthos' eyes held more hope now than when they had first found the bodies, and even Treville felt the spark of something glowing inside.

'One man tied, perhaps not treated so badly, another tied and beaten, whose wrists have taken more strain.' The Captain could not help himself. 'I only know one person involved in this that would repeatedly get himself into that kind of situation, and if I find out he is still alive, I will tie him to a chair and beat him myself.' He flashed a brief smile and indicated for Porthos to follow him.

When they exited the store, Aramis was just coming back out of the woods, holding his hat in his hand, his hair having accumulated a variety of leaves and his boots in a terrible state.

Porthos was grinning. 'What you been doin'? Playin' in the mud?' Aramis glared.

'I found something quite interesting. There are footprints back there; it is quite a mess. However, at one point, just where the ground begins to slope up into the wood, I could clearly see the sign of a struggle, though between who and how many I could not say. But I did find this, attached to a bramble.' He held aloft a torn piece of blue silk – just like the scraps which had been their guide ever since they had begun following on the first day.

'There was the mark of a bullet on the bark nearby – someone fired a shot and hit that tree. Just a little further up the slope, I found the trace of booted footsteps disappearing into the wood, where I lost them, but they were small, very likely a woman's.' He let his words hang in the air, whilst they all tried to consider the ramifications.

Porthos could not contain himself any longer. 'Two people were tied up in one of the rooms back there, one set of ropes not too damaged. The other person was tied to a chair and beaten, hands in a bad way…' He said nothing more, simply watched his friend's reaction.

'Athos is alive!' Aramis almost shouted. He ran at Porthos and hugged the big man, his joy a sight to behold.

'We cannot be sure, but it is looking more likely we have been duped and distracted all the way, and it has slowed us down.' Treville growled.

'I do not know what went on in that wood, but if Athos was fighting here, perhaps she tried to help the King, we cannot know. Unfortunately, two people _were _tied up, and what we have to remember is we cannot conceive whether that was before, or after the killing. It does appear that Milady may have gotten away and, with luck, may still be on their trail. We must carry on; we cannot be far behind now.'

This time Aramis and Porthos hurried to their horses with a lighter step, no longer spurred by revenge, but by a desperate need to help their brother, whom they were now fairly certain still lived.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Athos and the King did not return to the cottage on Gaston's estate. Fabre took a detour, presumably to collect the men left behind, as well as the horses and baggage. Timot and Bisset rode side-by-side, conversing quietly. Once or twice they looked toward the King, and Athos was not reassured by their expressions.

If Gaston delivered the money – and he had to admit that _if _played a rather large part in that equation – _if_ Gaston delivered the money, the King would no longer have any further part to play in this plot, though how they were planning to account for his death, Athos had no idea. Richelieu would expect to see proof before letting Gaston anywhere near Paris, let alone the throne.

As Athos watched Fabre ride away from the party, the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He looked off into the trees lined up along the side of the road. The dying sun made it difficult for him to see, as it was low and that side of the driveway was in deep shadow. Still he had a sense of presence – he could have been wrong, but for once he hoped he was not. Turning away he gave a wry smile at the irony.

A pair of elaborate gates marked the entrance to a driveway, almost hidden in the trees. Once grand, and in all probability decorated with gold leaf, they now stood rusted and broken, half-covered by brambles, and with grass growing up so high they could no longer be closed. They rode between the silent sentinels, weeds breaking through the rutted surface of the drive that no coach would traverse in its current condition. They guided their horses around the worst of the holes and made their way toward the house. What had once been a formal and beautifully laid out garden, was now wildly out of control. However, the feature that exuded the strongest sense of dread was the moat around the château. The surface was covered with scum and weeds, its stagnant water oozed more than flowed, and no swans or other form of living creature moved amongst the rotting lily pads.

Both Athos and the King stared at the dark water. Louis shivered – he was well aware why his brother had suggested the château in the first place. It was clear a body would never be discovered in the disused moat and, knowing his brother, he would probably not be the first.

'Athos.' The King had not spoken directly to him for some time, and his voice took the swordsman by surprise.

'Your Majesty?' Athos responded carefully.

'We are running out of time, are we not?' He stared at Athos, his dark eyes sad yet resigned.

'This may be our best chance yet, Your Highness.' Athos was not sure that was true, but as the King had rightly said, they were running out of time. He had tonight to form a plan for tomorrow; if Timot got his way, the King would be superfluous to his needs.

The château had to be one of the oldest in France, dating back to the time of King Charles, and it was more a fortress than a mere family home. They rode over the bridge and through an arched structure into the remains of a beautiful courtyard. Many of the statues had been stolen, only the shattered plinths remaining, and the tiled floor was now cracked and broken. Even so, it was a formidable building.

They dismounted and Athos suspected this would be the last time he would be pulled from atop his horse, a situation he would not miss. There was a mounting sense of impending change, of the end of something – whatever that may be.

Athos and the King were herded along endless corridors, each one seeming to take them further inside the bowels of the château. The atmosphere emitted a strong smell of damp, and the cold sensation of disrepair and abandonment gradually seeped into their bones. Finally, they reached a long corridor with a series of heavy wooden doors; some had grills, some bars and others no openings at all. Athos wondered if they were in some form of dungeon, but when the door was opened and they were thrust inside, he changed his mind.

It was not constructed like a dungeon, as they were not deep enough underground. One of the favourite deprivations for anyone designing such a gaol was the lack of daylight – always an essential – but not in this case. High up on the wall was a small opening with bars; no gaoler would want a prisoner to have such a sight, wanting to destroy the hope such a view would enliven. Apart from the small opening, there was little else to see. A series of empty crates were scattered around the floor, and a cask was lying on its side, its vacant interior laid bare. No, not a dungeon, but a storeroom of some kind. The only other features were a drainage hole in the middle of the floor and a grill low down on one wall, also with a grate in front of it, and none of them offered any means of escape.

Athos picked a small rock from the floor and dropped it through the grill at his feet. There was a few seconds of silence, then the distinctive plop of an object hitting distant water as the rock fell into the moat. It was as Athos suspected.

'So now we await my brother I assume?' Louis stated, sitting down on an upturned crate. 'I suppose this is my own fault – if I had killed him, then neither of us would be in this position. I am sorry, Athos. Despite his failings, despite all he has tried to do, he is still my brother and I could not see him come to harm. I do not expect you to understand, you must think me very weak.' Louis hung his head, avoiding Athos' gaze.

Slowly Athos sank onto a crate. 'Not at all, Your Majesty. I, too, had a brother, younger like yours; I would never have deliberately harmed him either.' He had spoken quietly, but his tone had been filled with so many emotions – hurt, regret, guilt – that there was no doubting his honesty.

'What is his name?' the King asked, eager for a change in subject.

Athos thought for a moment before he replied. 'Thomas, his name _was _Thomas.' Athos stared up at the patch of sky, now showing gold and orange as the day passed to evening.

'I am sorry, Athos. What happened to him?' The King spoke as though he was certain of Athos' reply; people did not refuse to answer a King. Athos actually considered refusing, but suddenly he no longer saw the point.

'He was younger than I by several years, and I bought about his demise. I should have known better, should have protected him. Instead… instead, I introduced him to his killer.' Athos felt a little lighter for having said the words aloud. That was how he remembered those months, that was how he felt, how he saw his _own _hand in the events that had consequently unfolded.

'So not by your hand?' If there was a slight note of wariness in the King's voice, Athos could not blame him.

'I did not wield the fatal blow, but I bought the killer under our roof. I made it all possible.' Both Athos and the King were silent for several minutes before the King spoke again.

'I decided to throw a party for my wife's birthday. I thought it would be a wonderful surprise. I planned and provided everything I thought would make the event perfect. I designed and ordered the most elaborate confectionary, thinking it would be the highlight of the event.' Athos could not help but raise an eyebrow at the King's remark, and the King even smiled.

'Yes, yes, I know, I am gravely sorry for what happened to you, Athos. I now realise the risk you took on my behalf. However, my point is, if the Queen had been killed, if more of my guests had died, or been injured, I could easily have blamed myself. But that would not have been the case – I merely ordered a cake. Those that decided to use that object for their own twisted ends, would have been the ones responsible, not I.' He looked at the swordsman, trying to imbue his words with the strong emotion of understanding that his expression exuded.

'Thank you, Your Majesty.' Athos heard the words the King had uttered and wanted to think the King was simply avoiding his responsibility. But he was not, he was right, it would not have been his fault, had not been in fact. Did that make Athos innocent of his brother's death? No, not in his eyes. His guilt did not come from innocence or ignorance; it came from selfishness, from not wanting to believe what was in front of him, because he did not want to be wrong.

The King was not foolish enough to believe Athos had really altered his own perspective of his brother's death just from listening to his monarch, but still he eyed the man with interest.

The light from the small opening was now dimming and soon they would be sitting in darkness.

'You appeared to be on good terms with the Marchioness. I assume you met before when you came to collect my brother in December?' Louis made the statement sound like casual conversation, but Athos knew the man was fishing for information and, under the current circumstances, he could not blame his curiosity.

'I did, Sire. She is an impressive lady,' Athos responded somewhat guardedly.

'She is, is she not. I loved her dearly as a child; she always stuck up to my mother on my behalf. I thought she was dead… and that shames me.' Athos could picture the King's wide grin and he knew the man had probably been told a lie.

'For reasons I cannot imagine, I believe your brother has kept her in ignorance of life outside of the château for some years. She was very keen on information concerning life at court when we met last Christmas. I thought her rather lonely.' Athos suspected he may have said more than he should, but with the King no more than a grey shadow, it was almost too easy to reveal information.

'And you provided her with such information?' the King asked. Athos did not reply.

'Athos?' Louis persisted.

'Yes, I did. Much of it was very out of date, though she did not realise,' Athos finally admitted, his voice almost a whisper. He waited for the King to continue, but no further questions were forthcoming. Athos watched as the stars emerged in the high opening in the wall, the King now lost from his sight.

Yes, he had bought Anne into his home, and he had loved her so much he refused to believe any rumours or slights that were directed at his wife. She had been everything to him, and he had believed him to her. Did that really make him guilty? Was blinding love so very wrong? Deep down he suspected the answer was yes. Any emotion which removed a man's ability to think clearly, and keep events in perspective was dangerous, be it love, revenge, hate or fear, all of which could lead you to act in a way that was unforgivable. And that was what he had done, and he could not forgive himself… or her.

The King's voice interrupted his thoughts, but it was not the sound, it was the very question itself. It was as if Athos had known it was coming, known it hovered on the King's lips; he had seen it there unspoken, waiting, for a long time now.

'Who are you, Athos?' the King asked quietly.

'Your loyal servant, Sire,' Athos responded, hoping the answer would satisfy the King, though knowing it would not.

'That I no longer doubt. I have seen you bought before me in rags, bloodied from a fight; you stood before me then and answered my questions with a confidence and assuredness I get from very few men. I had you publicly flogged, yet you still threw yourself out of that window to save my life. Then I refused you a place amongst my Musketeers, yet here you are again, trying to protect me. You speak to me with respect, but no suggestion of awkwardness. You have the carriage of a man of breeding, as does your voice. Do not tell me you are a mere swordsman, Athos – I no longer believe it. Would you lie to your King?' Louis put an emphasis on his last question, reminding Athos to whom he was talking.

The swordsman almost smiled. In the darkness it would have been far too easy to lie to the King, but ironically it also made it easier to tell the truth.

'I am… I am Olivier d'Athos, the Comte de la Fère.' Athos closed his eyes. How long had it been since he had spoken those words out loud? One year, maybe two even? He had no idea. They sounded wrong as they left his lips, as though he were talking about someone else, someone he had once known. An old friend? No, he thought not.

'The Comte de la Fère.' Louis repeated the words slowly, as though trying to summon up some memory of information. 'Pinot, is it not?' he asked, sounding pleased with his recollection.

'Indeed,' was Athos' response.

'There was some gossip, some trouble, the death of a family member. The Comte was not in residence, but I believe I still receive my taxes.' The King fell silent. He had spoken his recollections aloud, and now he fell silent, realising he may have said too much.

Athos wanted to respond with a sarcastic retort – how relieved he was that under such obviously trying circumstances, the King had still received his taxes – but he could not find the anger to fuel his remark. Instead he simply said, 'All correct, Your Majesty.'

'The death, was it your brother?' This time there was a gentleness to the King's voice, but whether it was in deference to his title or genuine concern, Athos could not tell. This time, Athos could not answer. He was tired, and the revelations, though liberating in their own way, had taken their toll. He needed to sleep, if he could – but most of all he needed to work on that plan.

The question hung in the darkness, and Athos was fairly certain he had given the King his answer.

ooOoo

Milady had caught up with the men a little way off from the Château de Bois. It helped that she knew where she was going, and had a vague remembrance of the area and, being a lone rider, she had been able to take a shorter route, which had saved her a great deal of time.

Now here she was, riding between the growing shadows cast by the trees, as the small party headed up the long drive to the château. There was no way she could get inside, and she only hoped the whole situation would not come to its conclusion here, with her outside helpless to stop it.

Milady felt as though she had waited for hours – patience not being one of her virtues. She watched the sun sink lower in the sky; it was not yet evening, but it was fast approaching. Suddenly a shot rang out from within the building, so loud, the nesting birds erupted, screeching into the sky, circling and crying their fear into the air, as they attempted to identify the threat. As the creatures began to calm and return to their branches, Milady's heart thudded in her chest.

Only one shot, only one dead. Friend or foe? She was not going to get her answer any time soon, but what patience she did have prevailed, and some time later the door finally opened, and several figures filed out. Relief flooded through her. Athos, as always, was easy to identify; he was a head taller than most of the men, apart from the one whom she had decided was in charge. Milady counted slowly – the same number of men had left as she had watched enter, so the victim was from within. However, she doubted he would have shot Gaston. A brave servant perhaps?

She slid further in amongst the trees as the men rode past. They did not appear to be in a great hurry, and one of their group departed as, veering off, he took a different route. As the party passed where she hid, Athos turned, looking directly at the spot where she was currently crouched behind the wide expanse of an old oak. His expression gave nothing away but, as he turned, she was almost sure she saw him smirk, and she found the normally condescending expression rather reassuring. He was still alert, but how he had known she was there she did not know, and the thought sent a shiver through her body, though she knew she was not cold.

Milady crept from the gloom and re-mounted her horse, just as a cart and rider were coming up the road. Gratefully, she dropped in behind him, the perfect cover. As they turned a corner, she realised the party ahead had turned off. Her breathing came quicker, and for a moment she was puzzled, but as she moved slowly forward, a pair of once impressive gates revealed themselves amongst the crumbling wall and overgrown trees. As the cart rumbled on oblivious, she slid from her horse and tethered him just inside the gated drive. A pile of rubble stood to the left of the gates – what had formerly been a lodge to observe the comings and goings of a great house, no doubt; but most of the useful items had long been robbed out, and only the crumbling masonry remained. Wherever it was that they were, it had been abandoned for a long time, or the owner no longer cared to see to its upkeep.

Aware that she was operating in the dark, her location unknown, Milady ran between the trees that lined the drive. The approach to the house itself was so unkempt that she feared she could probably break an ankle in the growing twilight.

The sky was beginning to glow with the setting sun, with golds and purples reflecting off the moat surrounding the ominous fortress; at least it lifted the otherwise loathsome stretch of water, making it appear less inhospitable.

She raced across the bridge as they passed out of sight through the distant arch, and peered slowly around the enormous gateway, just close enough to watch Timot and Bisset push Athos and the King inside the building. The heavy wooden door thudded shut behind them, closing off the world with a morbid finality.

Confident she would not be seen, she hurried closer to the château. Staying low to the ground, she examined every window and opening she could find – nothing, no sign of life, nor any way of entering. Trying to calm her thudding heart so she could hear herself think, she considered where they would take the two men. The dungeons were the obvious solution, but perhaps they would not deem it necessary to be so thorough. She gazed up at the towering edifice and hoped they were not secreted on the upper floors, entry to which was nigh impossible. It would be dark soon, and she needed something to help her move around the building, for waiting for the morning was not an option. Just like Athos and the King, she understood time was now of the essence.

ooOoo

Treville would have smiled at the lightening of the mood between the party, but there was still a small part of him that dreaded what would happen if they were wrong. Had they merely put two and two together and made it add up to what they wanted to see, rather than admit there were many more scenarios they had not considered, or not wished to consider?

'Will you please stop whistling,' Porthos growled at Aramis, who had been grinning broadly ever since they had mounted up.

'Why, is it annoying you?' Aramis asked innocently.

'No, you are frightening the birds,' Porthos murmured in return.

'Oh, I did not realise you cared so much for their welfare,' Aramis remarked, still smiling.

Under his breath, Porthos muttered something Aramis suspected was offensive. 'If you must know, it sets my teeth on edge,' Porthos explained, though reluctantly.

'I am sorry,' Aramis apologised, trying to appear contrite. 'I shall sing instead.' With that he opened his mouth, but before he could begin Porthos intervened.

'Don't bloody sing! How are we supposed to creep up on anyone if you warble like a cathedral choir?' The big man turned in his saddle and glared at the marksman.

'Perhaps the whistling would be preferable then? At least they might think it is simply the evening call of a beautiful bird,' Aramis said whimsically, completely aware he was goading his friend.

Porthos answered through gritted teeth, 'If you whistle or sing again, I will shoot you.' Aramis laughed, and this time even Treville could not withhold his smile. He had missed the banter of the two men, and he just hoped their happiness would not prove in vain.

However, Aramis did indeed quiet down, and he recognised the area despite the growing twilight. 'We are very close to de Bois. Do we simply knock upon the door?'

Treville lifted his head in thought. 'That might not be a bad idea.' He eyed the two Musketeers, noting both men appeared delighted at the suggestion. It was high time they took matters into their own hands.

Together they rode up the long drive, coming to a halt beside the ornate fountain, and a groom appeared out of the gloom and took hold of their reins.

'Do not stable them, just hold them, we will not be long,' Treville ordered the surprised youth.

The Captain banged on the door, then took a step backward, with Aramis and Porthos positioned at either shoulder. The wooden structure opened slowly, and a rather wary servant stood in the doorway.

'May I help you?' he asked, though there was a quiver in the elderly man's voice.

'Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers. I wish to speak with the Duke, is he here?' Treville climbed to the next step and the elderly man flinched.

'I am afraid the Duke is not in residence, perhaps…' Before he could continue, another voice rang out.

'Who is there? It is late for callers, come back tomorrow, the Duke is not here.' The voice was haughty, but it suggested age and a certain amount of frailty. A tiny woman, tapping a cane, gradually revealed herself until she stood only a little behind the major-domo.

Aramis grinned. 'Marchioness, it is I, Aramis. I was amongst the party who came last winter to escort the Duke to Paris – with Monsieur Athos – do you remember?' Treville wrinkled his brow but Porthos grinned.

'Monsieur Aramis, I vaguely recollect your name, but I remember Athos _very_ well. In fact I spoke with him earlier today.' All three men gasped.

'You spoke to Athos? Are you sure my Lady?' Aramis asked slowly.

'I am old, and blind, but not stupid, young man. Anyway, I would know _that _voice anywhere. He was here, of that I am certain. He was with the King, talking to Gaston. As usual I was sent away. Athos promised to come talk with me, but he never came.' Her voice was wistful and filled with disappointment.

'Captain Treville, My Lady. Might I ask how long ago this was? It is important that we find Athos.' Treville spoke with deference, though the blood was singing in his veins.

'Captain, I have heard your name. Something is wrong is it not? I heard a shot – that is what bought me to the door. Athos told me not to worry, that he would see me later but, as I said, he did not come. Gaston left not long after and has not yet returned. It must be almost sunset now, is it not?' She tilted her birdlike head and looked in the direction of the men's voices.

'Yes, My Lady, it is almost dark,' Treville answered.

'Then it must have been somewhere close to the hour of five or six. Would you not say so, Paré?'

The servant nodded his head in confirmation. 'Very close to, My Lady, indeed it was.'

'Thank you, we will take our leave,' Treville concluded. Hesitating he continued: 'Might I ask you one last favour? Would you kindly refrain from passing news of our visit on to the Duke? It is essential for the King's safety, and the safety of Athos.'

The elderly woman smiled. 'You have my word, Captain. Look after the King and Athos for me – and tell Athos I would love to hear him read again.' With that, the small creature drifted toward the nearest doorway and melted back into the flickering torchlight.

The door was shut, the servant assuming the conversation to be over.

Slightly stunned, they all looked at one another, yet all of them were smiling, even Treville.

'I told yer,' Porthos said, slapping Aramis hard on the back.

'Actually, I believe it was _I _who told _you_,' Aramis coughed, though he could not hide his joy.

'It would appear Athos is indeed alive, and he had better stay that way until I get to him,' Treville stated, and though he sounded angry he could not hide the twinkle in his eyes.

Nobody mentioned the King.

'We do not know where they have gone,' Aramis said, suddenly realising they had no next move.

Acknowledging the statement with the shake of his head, Treville looked around. 'We can do little tonight, so we will set up camp at the bottom of the drive. Gaston may return but, if not, we will question the rest of the staff or groundsmen in the morning.

They did not like the delay, but Treville was correct, in the dark they could do nothing. If only they had known then, just how close Athos and the King truly were.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Milady watched and waited. The light faded and darkness wrapped itself around the château, as one-by-one the stars began to twinkle up above. With such a clear sky, the temperature had dropped, causing her to shiver. Milady was grateful that it had been Treville's horse she had taken, as the bags had proved to be extremely useful; not only had there been enough food to keep her going, but she now had a flint and candle. Not that it would help her move about, but luckily her eyesight was excellent in the dark, and the clear sky meant she had an almost full moon to aid her, but at least she would have extra light should she need it. The man she had killed at the gamekeeper's lodge had provided her with weaponry, and she had Athos' sword – all she had to do was get it into his hand.

She was starting to think nothing would happen, her patience beginning to wane, but as she crouched amongst the bushes, cramp setting into her stiffening limbs, a solitary light began to glow in a ground floor window. Milady had no choice but to get closer – close enough to see who sat within that light. She pushed her back against the brickwork, trying to make herself invisible, as step-by-step she approached the window, until her face was touching the rough lintel. Breathing heavily, she had to risk looking inside, for she could hear nothing through the thick walls.

Leaning hesitantly toward the glass, she peered into the candle-lit room. Two men were sitting around a fire, drinking. One appeared to be celebrating, whilst the other sat staring into the fire. She knew who they were, but more importantly she realised that _they _were here, and Athos and the King were elsewhere. She was wasting time, but where was she to search?

She tried to calm herself and think clearly. She knew they had taken the men inside the château, so there was no need to examine the outbuildings. The structure appeared to drop away at the rear, so it was possible that some of the lower floors may be accessible for her to gain entry; that was where she would head. Having reached a decision, she wasted no more time. At least she now felt as though she was doing something – the waiting had been excruciating.

Suspecting that no one else inhabited the almost derelict building, she did not bother attempting to be quiet. Not that she made much noise, as one of her many talents was to move amongst the shadows as though she were one of them; a person without substance. Porthos might have said that was a perfect description, but she wouldn't have cared, not from him anyway.

The château was huge, and it took a while for her to navigate the outside walls. She checked every window and every nook for some way in, but becoming more frustrated and angry, she found it hard to believe that it was far easier to gain entry into a wealthy merchant's house in Paris, than this dilapidated fortress. She fought the sensation as long as she could, but the growing sense of helplessness was threatening to overwhelm her. She picked up a rock, with the intention of using it to try and break the bars of a window, but when the jagged stone slipped, ripping at her skin, she howled in a mixture of pain and anger and flung it toward the moat.

Athos was awake in an instant. He had not been napping, but in a suspended state between complete wakefulness and sleep; the noise had him on his feet, straining to hear the slightest sound. He knew that noise, he had heard it before when he had had to dodge the occasional flying object, and right now it was magical. He pushed two crates toward the small opening near the ceiling, and gingerly he began to climb. They were fairly solid, but in the dark it was difficult to tell how well he had positioned them, and even on the top of both boxes he was only just able to touch the bars with his finger tips.

Still, he listened again, not ready to let go of the opportunity.

Milady sank to the ground, the blood running down her arm and her palm ripped in several places. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, but she was not a crier; she had cried too much, through too many nights, but it had achieved nothing and never solved any of her problems, so now she did not give in to the malady. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and glared at the moon.

'You evil bastard!' she shouted as loud as she dared. She had no faith, she was not sure she ever had, for she had fended for herself too hard and too long to believe in a higher order. However, right now she very much needed someone to blame. It felt as though everything was against them, nothing she did seemed to help.

Then she heard something. Her heart stilled, and when it moved again it hammered against her ribs as though it would burst.

'Anne, is that you?' Athos whispered as loud as he could.

'Athos?' She scrambled further along the wall, desperate to trace the source of his voice.

'Small grill, I cannot reach, only to touch the bars.' Athos looked around in irritation, he needed to help her, show her where he was. The moonlight caught the fabric of his shirt and he smiled. He tore at the fabric, the sound sharp as it rent apart, and when he had a chunk in his hand, he held it up and pushed it through the bars as best he could.

Milady searched the wall in vain, she could see nothing, and Athos had stopped speaking, had someone caught him? She looked around, more careful now. Perhaps there were more of them than she had thought, perhaps there had been men awaiting Timot's arrival.

She stood silently, listening for any sign of the approach of another, but there was nothing, just the chill breeze in the grass. Suddenly, something caught the corner of her eye, something fluttering in the gentle wind. She hurried toward the opening. It was small, perhaps the span of both her hands; thick bars blocked the gap, and a strip of white fabric moved slightly as it was caught by the wind.

It was just about level with her shoulder and she had to reach up. 'Athos.' She put her hand to the bars and flinched when her fingers touched flesh. 'Athos,' she sighed, and twined her fingers through his. 'I found you.' Athos heard a sound; it could have been a sob, but he pretended he had heard nothing.

'You are not bound?' Milady queried, the idea filling her with new hope.

'No, but I am not sure that will be enough,' Athos told her. 'If the others arrive tomorrow there will be five of them against the two of us, and I am not sure how the King would manage in a fist fight.'

She smiled as she pulled the sword from her belt. 'I think I may have just what you need.' She slid the hilt through the bars into Athos' hand. She heard a brief snort, and her heart soared; she could clearly see the wry grin on her husband's face that accompanied his idea of laughter.

'Anne… thank you.' Athos' voice sounded choked, and once more she reached her hands to the bars, and as strong fingers gripped hers, she wanted to hold on so tight. She let his strength run through her and turned her head to the sky. Why was it that when they were together, she felt invincible?

She turned back to the bars, wishing she could see as well as touch. She passed the smaller dagger with it, already more at ease now he was armed. 'What will you do?' she asked.

'I am not sure. Timing will be crucial. Gaston is supposed to bring money at first light, and if he does, they may relax a little once he has left – that will be the best time to strike.' He did not add _if the King is still alive_. 'Anne, I need you to do something for me.' Athos' tone was serious, and she nibbled her lip, frowning in the darkness.

'What?' was all she could manage, when she wanted to scream _anything_!

'I want you to go and find Treville. He cannot be far behind, and I wouldn't mind some extra help.' The wry note in his voice did not lighten her heart; he wanted their help, not hers.

'I can fight too,' she protested.

'I know, and I am grateful, but this is one fight I cannot afford to lose. Five against five is much better odds, do you not think… and I am not including the King.' He waited and let his words sink in.

He was including her. He wanted her to return with them. She let her fingers brush the hand holding hers then pulled them away.

'I will be back as soon as I can. If I have not found Treville by morning, I will return without him. Two against the world cannot be bad odds either.' She slipped away, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. But she had a purpose, and she would find the Musketeers if that was what he needed. If not, she would fight by his side alone, for no other would fight as hard as she to protect him – she was beginning to see that now.

Athos held the sword in his hand and jumped down from the tower of crates, his mind and heart both racing, and he was glad the room was in complete darkness.

From somewhere in the room Louis asked: 'Was that Milady de Winter?' His voice was sleepy and almost a whisper.

'Yes,' Athos replied, slowly lowering himself to the floor, no longer able to deny the deep tiredness that overwhelmed him. Most of the pain had dulled to an ache, but he felt warm and his arm throbbed. He was glad he could not see the condition of his left wrist right now, as he had no doubt it would tell its own tale.

'What did she say?' Louis continued.

'She had something for me.' He half hoped the King would let the matter drop, but it was not to be.

'What? What did she give you?' The King sounded more awake and Athos almost moaned, so heavy were his own eyes.

'My sword, she gave me my sword.' His lips twitched and his fingers gripped the familiar hilt with relief. Now he could take them on, and he would, whatever the odds.

'So, we are armed. What are you waiting for?' Louis sounded agitated but Athos did not care.

'The morning, Sire. We will wait till then.' With that he closed his eyes, and whether or not Louis spoke again he did not know, he was fast asleep. However, rest it was not to be.

_His mind was too alert, he could hear laughter… her laughter, Thomas' laughter, then the laughter stopped and he wanted to warn him, wanted to reach out and save his little brother… but he could not. Suddenly he was cold, standing alone in the dark, the light in the distance began to fill with figures, his father... I knew you would fail… I knew you were not strong enough...Thomas... Why_,_ Athos? … Why did you marry her? … Then her, she left the darkened silhouettes behind and came closer… Athos_,_ I love you Athos, her eyes were hooded and she reached out for him, her tongue slowly wetting her red lips… then her expression changed, she was being sucked backward away from him... Save me_,_ Athos… it was not I… I love you… please… save me… the scream died down… she was gone, but her voice was not… now it came gentle and soothing. Two against the world are not bad odds either... His heart squeezed and he tried to see her smile, but he could not… he could only see her swinging from a rope on a summer's breeze._

Athos awoke with a start. He stilled, his body stiffening as he strained to hear what, if anything had awoken him. Nothing. He calmed a little. He feared he had slept too long but, looking up at the window he was relieved to see dawn had not yet broken, though the sky was now lighter, and the stars less prevalent. He suspected they would be left alone until Gaston arrived; Timot would want witnesses, he would want a spectacle – Athos just hoped he would not want the King's death to be part of that.

Athos was banking on the fact that Gaston was a coward, he would not wish to be present to see his brother's blood spilt. He would like to have given the Duke the benefit of the doubt, imbued his reluctance with some finer feeling, but no, it was just cowardice, and guilt at his own greed. Athos had to settle on a plan of action, and for once he was uncertain. If he risked waiting for the others it could all go horribly wrong, but alone he could not hope to take on both Timot's and Gaston's men. If Treville came, then the decision would be simple; if he did not, then Athos would have to take the risk and act alone.

ooOoo

Just as it had during many of the events over the last few days, it seemed luck was still looking in the other direction. Milady rode from the château as soon as the darkness lifted enough for her to see her way. She had fought the urge to return to the small window; there was so much she wanted to say and yet she understood deep down that she would say nothing. So, with a heavy heart, she galloped through the slight frost and set about fetching the rescue party Athos so badly needed.

She was aware there were still men back at Gaston's estate, so she rode not on the road, but a little way off behind the row of trees. This at least proved to be the right decision. She had not been travelling long when she heard the gallop of hooves, and stopping, she stroked her horse's neck and crouched low, keeping her eyes on the road. There they were – two men only, but leading three horses between them, each one loaded up with small bags on each side of their saddles. She waited until they were out of sight then moved on. It had not been Gaston, and for some reason she was glad. Milady did not want to ride away if the Duke was about to deliver the money, for she knew as well as Athos what that would mean for the King.

ooOoo

Aramis was sat watching the day begin to break, when he heard the rumble of hooves. Standing quickly, he took a position where he could see the main road, but the pounding gradually diminished. Thinking he must have missed them, he stepped out into the road, looking in both directions. The way they had approached last night was a long straight stretch, now void of any life form, and in the other direction there was a sharp bend in the road up ahead, which cut off his view.

Treville's gravelly voice sounded behind Aramis. 'Was that horses?'

The marksman turned and nodded. 'They did not come from that direction, I would have seen them pass,' he replied, indicating the vacant stretch of road. 'And yet they were riding away from us, so they must have come from nearby.' He looked up at the Captain; the realisation that they had been sitting on top of either Gaston or the kidnappers all night horrified them both.

'Let us see if the Duke has returned,' Treville barked, not wanting to consider what the error might mean for Athos and the King. All three men were ready in minutes, their horses thundering up the driveway, arriving at the ornate fountain and entrance in the blink of an eye.

Porthos hammered on the door, then took a step backward behind the Captain. When it opened, he thought he saw a flicker of relief upon the old major domo's face.

'Captain, I am afraid the Duke never came home last night, and the Marchioness is still asleep.' His expression pleaded with the Musketeer not to request he wake the old lady.

'Very well, but could you tell me what other buildings or property there are nearby?' Treville asked, attempting to appear calm. The man gave the question some consideration, before he nodded to himself, as though he was satisfied with his own thought process.

'Well if you mean what I think, then there is an old estate workers' cottage just beyond the trees at the bottom of the drive. No one has lived there this past year. Then there is nothing for miles, unless you count the old Château de Brun. It was abandoned these ten years past when the old Marquess died. He had no family, and the château reverted to the Crown.'

'Where is it?' Treville shouted, no longer trying to be affable.

'Er, just a little further along the road. It will not take you long, about an hour perhaps. Look closely, the entrance is almost obscured by foliage now.' But he was talking to himself, the three men having already mounted their horses as he finished his explanation to an empty space.

ooOoo

Milady had just passed a minor track that intersected the main road as she approached the area around Gaston's home, when once again she heard horses. She almost rolled her eyes as she was forced to take cover once more. The sight that greeted her made her stomach clench – this time it was indeed Gaston, with four other men, all heavily armed. She heard Athos' words in her head – _fetch Treville – _but she simply could not do it. She had not passed the Musketeers on the road and if she did not turn back now, he would be alone. What good would finding the Musketeers be if they only arrived too late for Athos and the King?

On this occasion she did not hesitate and taking a path parallel to the road she rode like the wind, urging her horse faster and faster, back toward the fortress.

ooOoo

Athos and the King were both awake. Athos had told the monarch of his plan and, though the King had looked worried, he had agreed to follow Athos' instruction and play the part he was asked. It had sounded rather vague, open to a myriad of disasters, but Athos had strived to put a positive tilt to the plan, trying to bolster up the part of the King, in a vain attempt to play to his ego.

Now all they could do was wait, but as they sat in the small room, watching the sky lighten outside, the floor began to shake and their hearing was assaulted by thudding and thumping emanating from the rooms below them. The heavy banging reverberated through the very fibre of the building and Athos could feel it in his feet, sending vibrations up his legs. Whatever they were doing, it sounded heavy. The thudding ceased, the silence so heavy, but not for long; it was followed by banging, a noise far more distinctive, sounding very much like the hammering of nails.

'What mischief are they up to now, do you suppose?' Louis asked. He had now dropped any form of decorum and spoke to Athos as he would have done any other man of his court.

'It is difficult to say, Your Majesty. They are nailing something up, but what I could not say.' Louis nodded. He could hardly expect Athos to have any clearer an idea than he, but somehow, he had faith in the soldier, and found his calmness and solidity reassuring.

'Athos, about Paris…' Whatever the King had been going to say was left unfinished as they were interrupted by a key turning in the door.

As one of them swung the door wide, Bisset and Fabre appeared together. Someone to see you, _Your Majesty_.' Bissett bowed in a mocking gesture, before gesticulating they should come out of the cell. Athos had hidden his sword beneath the crates, but the dagger was safely inside his boot. As they had gun barrels pressed to their heads, both men walked carefully, and for the thousandth time Athos wished he had been alone. He could have acted under such conditions if he had only himself to consider, but not with Louis.

They did not walk far, only to the end of the corridor and, as they arrived where the junction merged for the staircase going up and down, Athos could hear the banging more clearly Whatever they were working on was on the floor below and, judging by the vibrations, he guessed beneath the room in which they had been kept.

Coming down the staircase toward them was Gaston, followed by four of his own soldiers. Athos could tell by the way they moved that they knew their business. Hired mercenaries. With enough coin you could buy an entire army of such men from around the world, mostly bitter creatures who had been disowned by the very nations they had fought to protect – or at least their monarchs. They were not the type of men Athos wanted to fight, not with these odds.

'Good morning, brother,' Louis announced, straightening his shoulders and adopting the most arrogant stance he could under such conditions.

'Louis,' Gaston acknowledged, though he did not look at the King directly, a slight Louis did not miss.

'Can you not face me, brother? You have come to sign my death warrant and yet you do not have the courage to look me in the eye. How then do you believe you will ever have the courage to be King of all France?' That got the Duke's attention.

'King? You call yourself a King? You are merely a puppet of that foul creature Richelieu. I will be my own man; I will make my own decisions, not whimper and hide behind the Cardinal's skirts. I can fight my own battles.' He gave the King a smug smile, but Athos had other ideas.

'Like you are doing now?' the swordsman broke in, his voice as haughty and condescending as he could possibly make it. Athos adopted a casual stance but gave the surprised Duke one of his most glacial stares. Gaston, taken aback, looked Athos up and down – then his eyes alighted on his face with recognition.

'You!' he gasped. 'You ruined everything. You were rude, disrespectful, and a bloody nuisance. Had it not been for you, I would already be King.' The stupefied Duke took a step forward, but Timot stopped him.

'He is mine.' The man spoke quietly but with authority.

'What do you mean, yours?' Gaston asked, incredulous.

'Gentleman, gentleman, please, do not fight over me,' Athos drawled. Both men glowered at him and Timot continued.

'He is worth money; he has a certain skill set that others will pay for.' He glanced at the four men on the stairs and smirked.

'You are going to let him go?' Gaston was slowly turning purple with fury.

'Believe me, Your Grace, killing him would be a mercy compared to what I have in mind,' Timot added, no sign of amusement now.

'No, no, no!' Gaston was jumping up and down like a child having a full-blown tantrum. 'I want him dead! Dead, do you hear me? I do not want him to leave here alive.' Everyone was looking at the Duke, who was now beside himself with rage. Suddenly the tantrum stopped, just like that; a situation which Athos found even more unnerving, but Gaston was about to play right into his hands.

'I will pay extra. Whatever you think you will get for him I will give you, and more, for killing him here with my brother.' Gaston thrust out his weak chin and eyed Timot with an expression glazed with bloodlust.

Timot shrugged his shoulders. 'Money is money, Your Grace. Lead on.' He waved his hand toward the stairs and Gaston turned to climb, with not a word to the King. 'Take them back to the room, then carry on. You know what to do.' Fabre and Bisset pushed Athos and the King back to their cell.

'What are you doing down there, tunnelling?' Athos asked, keeping his tone bland.

'Oh, wouldn't yer like to know? Well you will soon enough by the sounds of it. But then you're mighty fond of explosions, now aren't yer?' Bisset added as he stood in the doorway laughing.

Then suddenly he wasn't, and Fabre could do nothing but stare. Athos had appeared to wilt beneath Bisset's derision, dropping his head into his hands and crouching on the floor. Next, the man sprang like a cat and there was a knife in Bisset's chest, but for once the act alone was not enough and, before Bissett hit the floor, Athos gave him a full right hook, grabbing his knife as the man fell backward, and pulling it from his chest. Fabre was about to run when the knife flashed again, this time catching him in the neck. Blood gushed freely, but he was not dead. Athos kicked Bisset out of the way and leant over the dying Fabre. He put his mouth by the man's ear and whispered: 'Her eyes are green, thank you… but this is for if they had been brown.' With that, he gave the knife a slow twist before pulling it free, wiping it clean beneath the scrutiny of two pairs of sightless eyes.

Athos pulled his sword from under the crates, swinging it in his hand and grinning at the shocked King.

'That was marvellous,' grinned Louis like a happy child. He clapped his hands in excitement, sobering up slightly when Athos passed him the dagger. The King gave it a look of revulsion but accepted it anyway.

'Now for the rest, Your Majesty. Follow me.' Athos quirked a brow and placed his hand on the King's shoulder and, despite the impertinence, Louis never flinched.

'With pleasure, Athos.' Louis threw his cloak over his shoulders and held the dagger before him, nodding that he was quite prepared.

Together they began to make their way up the corridor, not sure what was happening either above or below them, but knowing with certainty that neither would be good.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Athos and the King trod carefully. Despite the lightening sky outside, it was dark in the corridor now that the torches had vanished, along with Gaston and his entourage. Hammering still came from below, yet the noise provided Athos with a certain amount of reassurance; he would worry when the hammering stopped.

Finally they came to the last stairwell that would lead to the ground floor and the main door. Athos did not have time to consider another way out of the fortress; he knew where the main entrance was, so that was the way they would go. Stepping carefully over the debris of ages, the two men stood quietly at the top of the staircase, the hallway and freedom before them. The décor here was much softer, more appealing to the public eye, though of course the curtains now hung in rags, no art or personal objects graced the walls, and faded paper and ornate carvings were decayed, covered with mould and encroaching ivy.

Athos searched the open space before them. Their escape route stood on the far side of the hallway, opposite their position on the staircase, and with no cover, it might as well have been a mile away. Still, they had to reach that door and there was only one way to do it.

'When I move, Your Majesty, run as fast as you can for the door. Whatever you hear, whatever happens, just go. Do you understand?' The King nodded, his expression solemn.

'You want me to leave you. I am not sure I can do that, Athos. I am your King and I am not a coward, no matter what my brother may say to the contrary.' Louis tried to give Athos a reassuring grin, but the swordsman only sighed.

'Sire, I do not believe you are a coward, but all of this will be in vain if you are killed. Do you want Gaston to be King of France?' The ploy worked, and Louis scowled.

'I will do as you say,' was the King's only response, but it was enough.

Athos listened. He could hear voices, but only two, and they were getting louder and louder. Somebody was having a heated argument – Timot and Gaston – he recognised the high-pitched squeal of the pampered Duke. Athos and the King stood in silence, anticipation so powerful it was almost a physical thing to be touched. Carefully secreted behind a convenient pile of rubble, they hoped their presence would go unnoticed. Footsteps were approaching, and judging by the pace, someone was in a hurry.

Gaston stalked into the hall, his four bodyguards behind him and, turning as he neared the doorway, he raised his arms in frustration.

'Throw him in the lake, I do not care, but there must be some proof. France will not name me King nor see me on the throne without something to show he is dead. Take his bloody head, anything, his hands. Just see it is done.' With no further comment, he flounced out of the hall. His dramatic exit was followed by several seconds of silence, before Athos and the King heard the sound of hoof beats as they rode away at pace.

'Any moment now, Your Majesty,' Athos whispered. When he received no response, he turned to check the monarch had heard him, and was staggered to see the King's eyes brimming with tears. 'Sire?'

'I am sorry, Athos, but it is not every day one overhears such a conversation.' He rubbed his sleeve across his face and nodded. 'I am ready.'

Athos felt for the King, and he dearly hoped that one day he could make his despicable brother pay, but now was not that day. He stood to one side, forcing the King toward the door, and they were halfway across the tiled floor when someone shouted from behind. Athos propelled the King ahead of him and turned to face his opponents. 'GO!' he yelled, brandishing his sword. It was lucky for him that Timot was alone. With Bisset and Fabre dead, that only left Duval, and the man whose name Athos had never heard. At least one of them had to be down below making all the noise; if he was lucky, both of them were.

Of course, luck was something Athos had never had in abundance and, as Timot approached, Duval strode into the hallway behind him. Still, he was comfortable with such odds.

'Monsieur Athos. So we meet in the arena at last.' Timot drew his own weapon but Athos noted he did not come any closer. 'Still, never mind, I have been compensated far more by the Duke to ensure your demise than you would ever have earned me on the open market. So, I suppose that now makes you disposable.' He gave Athos a grin, though his eyes were not as confident as his mocking statement implied.

'Timot, you talk too much,' Athos growled, preparing to attack. Timot gave Duval a sign and reluctantly the man stepped forward. Obviously he was to be the first victim.

'I see you are going to help me warm up. Excellent,' Athos drawled, with the quirk of a brow and the faintest hint of a smile. Duval licked his lips. He had seen Athos fight and he was not particularly keen on his chances – still, he was a soldier and that was what soldiers did. Duval lurched toward Athos and missed, giving the swordsman easy access to his torso, and Athos did not waste the chance – his blade sliced through the man's jerkin, causing him to cry out in pain.

Anger filled Duval's eyes; exactly what the swordsman had hoped for, as it was a fighter's worst enemy. Athos grinned even wider. Excellent. Steel clashed on steel, and he managed to inflict another wound to the man's arm.

'Stop playing around, Duval. End it! This man has been starved and beaten, what are you waiting for?' Timot urged, his voice just a little hysterical.

'Indeed, what _are _you waiting for?' Athos asked, his own tone deadly calm.

Duval lunged forward, Athos parried, and Duval tried to wrap his blade around Athos'. It was a learner's move and Athos easily thrust the man's blade away. He knew that Timot had the right of it and he was not in the best physical condition, so drawing this out was not to his advantage. He raised his arm and bought the steel down fast, slicing Duval from shoulder to chest. The man howled and looked down. Big mistake – as he raised his head, all he saw was Athos' blade coming toward him, and he did not even have the opportunity to step backward. The sword entered his abdomen and Athos was suddenly standing right in his face.

The blade twisted horribly in the defeated man's gut. 'That is for the end you had planned for my wife,' Athos whispered close to the dying man's ear, giving the blade another agonising turn. Duval screamed then fell forward into Athos' arms, the blade thrust to the hilt. Athos shoved the man away and twisted around, feeling Timot approach behind him. He was not wrong; eyes blazing with fury and madness, Timot raised his own weapon.

Athos was repelled by the force of his opponent's blade and, stepping back to regain his footing, he found himself at the top of the steps once more. Timot fought like a man crazed, hacking and thrusting, forcing Athos further and further back down the stairs giving him the advantage of striking from above. The swordsman needed to fight the man on firmer ground; the staircase was too narrow and too steep for him to mount a decent attack, and all he could do for now was stop Timot from sending him flying to the bottom. They reached a flat intersection on the level below, and Athos realised if he descended further, it would take him back to where he had come from – and that was in no way ideal.

Athos saw an opportunity to finish Timot off, but he let out a roar and called out for the man who was presumably working below. 'Franco! Here now!' he Timot screamed at the top of his voice.

At first there was no reaction and Athos hoped Franco had not heard, but the sound of booted feet pounding up the stairwell confirmed the worst. Suddenly Athos had a man behind and one in front – appalling fighting conditions. He spun around and pushed the surprised Franco backward. The man gave way for a moment, allowing Athos to parry Timot's blade; the space was still limited, and Athos knew he was tiring.

'Is it done!' Timot yelled to the man.

Franco came at Athos again. 'It is done!' he shouted, as he danced around the swordsman. Athos had no time to consider what it was Franco had set in motion. He was aware that Timot had the opportunity to stab him in the back every time he turned to fend off this second aggressor; he had to get Franco on the same side of him as Timot. Spinning with as much force as he could muster in the narrow passage, he slid his blade along Franco's and watched the man's eyes widen. Instead of pulling back, Athos turned and threw the man at Timot, just as the kidnapper raised his own weapon, affording Athos barely any time to bring the blade down. Franco screamed as the sword passed through his shoulder. He staggered back, taking Timot with him, but the leader was now fired with some inner strength which often presented with insanity. He pushed back at the injured Franco, who in turn staggered forward and propelled himself into Athos, knocking the swordsman down the stairs.

Athos felt as though no bone in his body had been spared. Hitting his head and shoulders as he descended rapidly down each and every one of the stone stairs, all the time he could see both men preparing to follow after him. Shaking his head in an attempt to think clearly, he flinched as his hand touched a bloody crack on the side of his skull, but apart from that, he could identify no other injury.

Athos got to his feet just as the two men reached the corridor. He raised his sword and before Franco could even parry, the swordsman slashed across his throat. Blood shot from the wound, and Athos felt the warm stickiness on his sword hand, making the hilt slippery in his grip. Timot pushed the body of his last man out of the way and grinned, madness now his only reality.

They clashed, blade on blade, Athos continually wiping blood out of his eye as it ran from his head. Timot took advantage of the swordsman's injury and bought his own blade down across Athos' forearm, easily cutting through the linen shirt and drawing blood. Athos hissed as he felt the blade slice his arm – painful, but not deadly. He did not realise how far they had travelled until he became aware of the door standing open to his left, the same bloody room he had just escaped from.

Both men were now breathing heavily, both bloodied and tiring. Athos made one final lunge and managed to pierce Timot in the stomach. The man growled in agony but thrust Athos away, back into the cramped cell. He picked up one of the crates and hurled it at the swordsman's face, the loss of his grip on reality now complete. Athos staggered backward just as he heard the clicking of a key in the lock.

When he looked up, Timot was holding the key to the door in the air, and laughing hysterically.

'So you think you have won...' He coughed up a gout of blood and his red, grotesque mouth leered at Athos in triumph. 'Well you haven't, you arrogant bastard. We will go to hell together.' He dropped to the floor and, before Athos could reach him, he let the key fall through the grille before his knees. Both men froze, then the sound of something hitting the water below made Athos' stomach lurch. Timot gave one last laugh – though it was more a wet cough – before he crumpled to the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling, a hideous grin still on the madman's face.

Athos sank to his knees, breathing laboured and hands slick with blood, with no idea how much of it was his own. The slash on his arm throbbed, and even he realised it needed stitches. His head was still bleeding, and a nice lump had formed, but blood was no longer running freely. More importantly, he was now locked in the cell, with no way out, and he had no idea what was going on below.

ooOoo

Milady had no time to change direction, she was galloping too fast and the driveway was too narrow. She could see the group of riders bearing down on her; they, too, were riding at full speed. As they neared one another, Gaston became recognisable – his face was pale, and he rode out in front. The Duke passed her, staring straight ahead, giving her not even a passing glance; he left that to his men. All four heads turned her way, but obviously she was not considered a threat, for they did not even glance back as they rode on.

Milady smiled. How many times had a man underestimated her? And how many times were yet to come? As a lone figure ran in the middle of the rutted roadway toward her, she urged her mount to slow, and to her utter amazement, she realised it was the King. Milady spurred her horse, toward him, but when Louis saw the creature galloping in his direction, he began to head for the trees.

'Your Majesty, it is I, Milady de Winter.' She swung from her mount as the King stopped and turned toward her, his dagger raised in readiness.

ooOoo

Treville and his men charged down the road, pulling up suddenly as several horsemen erupted from the tree line just around the sharp bend. 'Gaston!' the Captain shouted. The three Musketeers spread out across the road, but Gaston just kept coming.

'Stop them!' the Duke shrieked, as he urged his horse forward, racing around the Musketeers. But they had no time to worry about him, as shots rang out from the other four men, now dismounting and taking up a firing stance. Porthos cried out and fell to the floor. Aramis cursed and made his way carefully behind the horses to his fallen comrade.

'I'm fine, just fine,' Porthos moaned, though his face was pale and beads of sweat stood out from his brow. 'Went right through,' he said, indicating a growing patch of blood just below his collar bone.

'Well you are still breathing and talking, so for now I will have to take that as a good sign,' Aramis quipped, as he fired at the men up ahead, grinning with satisfaction as one fell to the road and stayed there.

'Thanks for the in-depth assessment,' Porthos growled, as he attempted to raise his gun, but the strain was too much and he was forced to hand it over to Aramis, ''Ere, you take it, I can't 'old it.' Aramis took the weapon, and now with a gun in each hand, he shot twice, winging one target and putting down another.

Pulling a wry face, he reloaded. 'Not bad. Never was as good with my left hand though, unlike our friend.' Treville was now up ahead, sword drawn, and had engaged the wounded man, whilst the final soldier came at him with a cold hatred in his eyes.

'Forgive me, I will be straight back,' Aramis promised, as he dashed to the Captain's aid. Treville still had a shoulder wound which, though knitting well, would hamper his sword arm slightly.

The two men were hardened, experienced soldiers and fought well, and though the pain on his face showed clearly, Treville managed to finish off the injured man. Aramis kicked out at his opponent, knocking him off balance, before thrusting his sword into the man's heart. Then, wasting no further time on the corpse, the marksman wiped his blade clean, turned his back on the men and ran back to examine Porthos' wound.

His friend had managed to drag himself over to a tree. His face pale, Aramis pulled away his jacket and assessed the damage.

'Well, it could have been worse,' he offered, as Treville stood over him.

'You mean I could have been dead,' Porthos scoffed, rolling his eyes.

'Can he ride?' Treville interrupted.

'Yes!'

'No!' both men answered in unison. Treville scowled but Porthos' deep voice drowned out the marksman's reply.

'Yes, he can, we are too close now. You can fuss and tut when we have found Athos,' Porthos barked, glaring at both men. He placed his good hand on Aramis' shoulder and pushed himself up from the ground.

Aramis knew that apart from knocking the big man out – and that was Athos' role with his rather mean right hook – there was no way to stop him. 'Very well, but as soon as Athos is safe, I stitch that wound, or you will bleed to death.' All three men mounted, Porthos with more than a little help from Aramis, and together they steered their horses toward the point where Gaston and his men had emerged.

The three horses thundered as one up the potted drive. The sun was now at its zenith and the spring sunlight was warm on their faces, but they noticed nothing. The state of the driveway slowed them down, for they could not risk their horses breaking a leg. But the sight which arrested them was the King and Milady arguing by the side of the road.

Both turned as they heard the horses nearing the spot where the two of them were standing, the animal's hooves pounding out a steady beat.

'I have to go back!' Milady yelled. But the King held her arm firmly.

'Athos told me I was to run and not look back, no matter what happened,' Louis insisted.

'I am not saying _you _have to return with me. Take my horse, I will go back alone. Ride hard, there is a small village a little way ahead, look for the signs. Whoever that is up ahead, do not stop,' she instructed the King firmly. She would obviously not be deterred, and with little strength to argue, the King gave in. He was about to urge his horse forward when the three men came into focus.

'It is Treville!' Louis cried. Milady was no longer listening; she had already begun running back down the driveway toward the house.

'Captain, I have never been so glad to see you, though I must admit I would like to have seen you sooner.' Treville managed not to roll his eyes; the King was obviously in good health judging by his rebuke.

'Your Majesty, are you hurt at all?' Treville enquired.

'Well looking at you and your men,' Louis responded, noting both Treville's and Porthos' bloodied appearance, 'I am indeed better than you. But that is not important, Athos is still inside. He was fighting two men when he told me to run. He needs help Treville. Go, I will be fine.'

'You had better stay with us, Sir. How many of them are there?' Treville asked, as side-by-side they rode back toward the fortress, the King now appearing quite keen to re-join the fray.

'I cannot be sure. There were five when we arrived. Athos killed two not so long ago, and quite spectacularly I must add, so there should be three. Two were fighting Athos, and there was banging below us, so perhaps one is in the bowels of the fortress,' the King explained, just as they drew up alongside Milady.

Nobody spoke, but Aramis leant down and, in one swift movement, pulled the woman up behind him on to his horse.

'A ride, Mildady,' he quipped.

'Aramis. Better late than never I suppose. Where the hell have you all been?' Anger was evident in her voice, and for once Aramis could not blame her, as they had indeed been of little help.

'We… well, let us say we were delayed. But we thank you for the clues you left, we may not have arrived at all without them. How is Athos?'

'Alive, no thanks to you. He has taken a beating, but nothing fatal or too debilitating. I think they thought he would be worth more to them whole.' She ground out the words as though the very thought of their intent enraged her.

'Well that may well have been their biggest mistake,' Aramis answered, speaking in a far more serious tone than his usual one.

Wasting no time, they jumped from their horses, hitting the ground running. They paused before the great wooden doorway, still ajar from the King's rapid exit. All was silent as they crossed the decrepit hallway. One body lay at the top of the stairs, and Treville stepped over him, the others watching his back.

'Athos!' the Captain bellowed. 'Athos, it is Treville! Can you hear me?' As they awaited a response, it was Porthos who halted their advance.

'Listen.'

Athos had heard the shout, recognising the voice even without Treville having to announce his presence. He had shouted back at the top of his lungs, but the walls were thick and the staircases long. So instead, he took his sword and began to bang on the bars of the room, the sound echoing along the empty corridor.

'Can you hear that tapping?' Porthos asked.

Treville led the way down the stairs, where they found another body on the landing. 'Two down,' Porthos grinned.

Down the stairs they went. 'This way!' Treville shouted, as he spotted two more bodies further along the corridor.

The tapping could now be heard much clearer. Treville reached the grille first, kicking the two bodies out of the way.

'Athos.' He said the man's name as though he were greeting a long-lost friend.

'Captain, it is good to see you. I have a bad feeling something is not right. They were knocking and banging below; I suggest someone goes to check, quickly,' Athos stated, his voice calm, if not just a little ragged. Treville indicated that Porthos should come with him, but not before the big man put his hand to the grille, clasping Athos' in his own.

'We are going to have a long talk,' the big Musketeer declared. He was scowling as he spoke, though his voice caught with emotion, spoiling the effect. Athos squeezed his hand and nodded, his lips twitching at the thought of one of Porthos' _little talks_.

'I look forward to it, my friend,' Athos retorted.

As Porthos hurried after Treville, Aramis took his place. 'So, mon ami, you are not dead?' He pushed Athos away from the door. 'Stand back, let me see.' Athos snorted and did as he was bid. 'I knew it, you are bleeding, and it is fresh.' He scowled at Athos and tutted.

'So were they,' Athos drawled, referring to Porthos and the Captain. 'And I am fine; I have more important things to worry about, like how to get out of this room. Timot…' he indicated the corpse in the corner with a nod of his head. 'Timot over there kindly dropped the key into the moat just before he died.' Aramis peered through the grille toward the dead man.

'They are all dead then?' the marksman asked, in case the King had been in error.

'All dead. Though Gaston and his mercenaries left not long ago,' Athos added

'Oh, do not worry about them. We passed them on the road, they were not very friendly. Gaston got away, but I think we taught the others a lesson in manners.'

Running feet approached and Treville and Porthos returned. Aramis stepped aside, and all the while Milady stood in the background, watching the touching spectacle and hating the men all the more. Nobody had asked about her, not even Athos.

'We have a problem,' Treville stated, looking at Athos through the grille. 'Who has the key?' he asked, the urgency raw in his tone. He turned sharply as Aramis moaned behind him, Athos said nothing.

'It is in the moat,' Aramis explained his face filled with tension. 'What is the problem?'

'A whole lot of gunpowder and a complicated slow burning fuse,' Porthos answered, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. Athos groaned and stepped further back into the room, so the others had a better view.

'I am afraid it is the door or nothing,' Athos explained. He remained in control, though his voice had an underlying note of sadness. 'You need to go. Take the King and get as far away from here as you can.'

'There you go again,' Porthos grumbled. Athos' mouth twitched.

'I am sorry, old friend, but I do not think even _you_ could move this door, especially in that condition,' Athos added, his face now set with determination.

'Captain?' Aramis asked, though he knew Treville could do nothing. 'There must be another way out.' He pushed Treville away from the grille and searched the room. 'What about up there?' He pointed to the small opening near the roof.

'We tried it, it is solid,' a new voice rang out. Athos was taken aback; he had not been able to see his wife from where she stood.

They all turned to look at her, having forgotten she was still with them.

'Anne, you are here too,' Athos called. For the first time, Aramis noted a note of tension in his friend's voice.

'Yes, Athos, I am here.' Aramis ignored them and continued to search the room.

'Look, there, near the floor, there is another grate. It looks rusty, can you pull it away?' Athos shuddered, he had hoped nobody would see the small opening behind the crates, and wished he had had time to push them up against it.

'It is too small; I would not fit,' Athos declared, using the voice that ensured most people backed away.

'You could,' Aramis replied, desperation in his voice. 'Can you see daylight?'

'Of course not,' Athos snapped. The reply was so unlike him it took the others by surprise. Suddenly Aramis understood.

'Athos, you have to try. You simply cannot stand there and wait to be blown to smithereens,' his friend pleaded.

Athos said nothing, but hung his head, not wanting to look the marksman in the eye.

'Of course he bloody will,' Porthos shouted in anger and frustration. 'Athos you get in that tunnel and you get yourself out of here. We _are_ going to have that damn chat.' Porthos' voice began to break. Both men knew of Athos' terror of small spaces; he had refused to enter the passageways at the lodge, and they had been twice the size of the one they could see inside the room.

'Son,' Treville spoke through the grille now, and Athos raised his head at the sound of his Captain's voice. 'I know this is hard, but you cannot wait here whilst there is the remotest possibility that tunnel could get you out. _I_ need you Athos, _we _need you. Please, son, try, for us.' Athos felt the prick of tears behind his eyes. He would have done anything for Treville, but he could not do this.

'I am sorry, I cannot.' He spoke softly and his tone was filled with regret. Suddenly the one person who had remained quiet throughout spoke up.

'Athos, your King commands you do this. Would you deny your King?' Louis moved toward the grille and drew himself up to his full height. Athos frowned but merely shook his head.

'I am sorry, but Sire, my job was to see you safe, and that I have done. Please leave now.'

'How long?' the King demanded of Treville.

'Hard to say, it was a candle burning through a thick rope, then a lantern will drop onto the gunpowder. But it will be soon. We will have to go,' replied Treville, almost choking on his own words.

Aramis put his hand through the grille and Athos took it, squeezing it tight, 'You cannot help me this time, my friend. Take care of Porthos, he will be angry with me.' Athos could hardly bear to see the pain in the marksman's eyes.

'Do not do this, Athos. Do not make us walk away and leave you like this, I cannot bear it,' Aramis pleaded, but it was to no avail – he was aware of the terror that kept Athos from crawling into that hole. Porthos stood against the far wall, glaring at his friend, as if his will alone would be enough to force Athos into that space.

'I will not bloody stand here and watch this! Athos you cannot do this, we already thought you were dead, that we had lost you, once before. Do not make us go through that again – get in that bloody hole and save yourself!' Porthos yelled. Athos simply turned away and looked at the dark narrow hole, knowing he could never go inside.

'I order you Musketeer,' Louis shouted. Athos turned slowly and looked at the King. Quietly, he sighed and, holding the monarch's gaze, he smiled.

'But I am not a Musketeer, Your Majesty.' Nobody spoke, but all eyes were on Louis; all four pairs burning with recriminations.

'Well let me put that right. Captain, your sword if I may. Athos, please approach the door.' Athos walked forward, somewhat confused. The King passed the blade through the bars, resting it on Athos' shoulder. 'I, Louis Xlll of France, hereby bestow upon you a commission in my regiment of Musketeers. Do you, Athos, Comte de la Fère, vow to uphold the laws of France, forfeiting your life for your King?' Athos stood straight, his voice a mere whisper.

'I do, Sire,' he replied, and bowed his head as Louis tapped the sword on his shoulder. Withdrawing the blade Louis spoke, his voice trembling with emotion. '_Now_ you _are_ a Musketeer, Athos, as you should have been long ago. I am sorry, for you have proved those words many times. Now I beseech you, please save yourself.' He stepped away, and Treville hardly registered the words as he attempted to force back the tears; all he could do was nod at Athos before turning to walk away, pulling the King with him.

'Captain,' Athos called. Treville stopped and looked over his shoulder as Athos passed his sword through the grille. He said nothing, but Treville frowned as he came over to take the blade.

'I will keep it safe until you take it back from me yourself,' Treville managed to rasp then, with one last smile, he left.

The two Musketeers looked on in shock as they considered the revelation made by the King, but even they knew this was not the time for such a discussion. After all, deep down they had always known such a possibility existed. Aramis backed away slowly, not bothering to hide his tears, and though Porthos tried to resist his friend's urging, Aramis placed his arm around the man's shoulder and led him away.

Milady was left alone. Just how many times could a heart break? Would this pain never end? Caught between sadness and desperation, she strode up to the bars, her beautiful face filled with anger. 'Is that it? Are you just going to stand there and die? The great Athos, the best swordsman in the country, holder of one of the oldest titles in France... and my husband? You are just going to wait for death? You _are _the coward I knew you were. You are a fake, Athos, and you do not deserve that which the King has just bestowed upon you. You are a coward, and I hate you!' With that, she stormed away from the bars, running down the corridor, running from the words she had flung in his face, words as hurtful as any dagger.

'Oi!' Porthos grabbed her arm before Aramis could stop him. 'What the bloody 'ell was that about?' Milady pulled her arm from his grasp and held up her head.

'If you _really_ knew Athos,' she spat, 'then you would know that the one thing that just might give him the strength to go into the place which to him is akin to hell, is not tears and platitudes, it is just plain anger! Rage will drive him into that tunnel, and if not, then I will have to live with those words for the rest of my life. I just hope to God I do not have to.'

That said, she turned away and hurried up the stairs, Aramis and Porthos following closely in her wake. Both men considered her words, and hoped that perhaps the woman was right – for any other outcome would be unbearable.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Athos was frozen, stunned. He hardly felt the nails biting into the flesh of his palms as he clenched them in anger. He had been unaware of her presence at first but then, remarkably, she had stayed close throughout his captivity, so he should not have been surprised; but he had been dumbfounded by the tirade of disgust she had lain at his door. A coward? Perhaps he had been, in many ways, but never when it came to his own personal safety; Porthos reminded him of the fact far too often.

Slowly he turned, shuddering as he forced himself to view the only potential means of escape. The narrow opening yawned before him like the gaping mouth of some revolting monster. Who even knew where it may lead? He may become stuck at any point, and die there; when the powder ignited, the tunnel may come down around his ears; there was absolutely no guarantee it would provide an escape at all.

Like someone in a dream, Athos found himself walking toward it, throat dry, heart hammering against his ribs, and he had not even reached a decision yet – or had he? Was he really going to stand here waiting for his own destruction? What if he was not killed instantly? That would be no way to die either. Still angered by his wife's vitriolic goodbye, adrenalin coursed through his veins. No, a coward he certainly was not.

Crouching in front of the grille, there was a part of him that hoped he would not be able to move the rusted metalwork – that would give him the perfect excuse. But _they _would never know that, they would always believe he had not made the attempt, that his nerve had failed him, that he was indeed a coward. Grabbing the rough bars, Athos pulled hard. At first nothing happened, but as he tugged harder still, he felt a slight movement. Placing one foot on either side of the grille, he heaved with everything he had left, and suddenly, with a wrenching groan, as though they had been pulled out by their very roots, the bars gave way, and Athos fell backward, the grating still clutched in his fists.

He thrust it to one side, and stretched out on his stomach. The opening was little wider than his shoulders, and he lay for a moment, trying to find the courage to make the first move; to put his head and shoulders inside that narrow, black abyss. The swordsman could not describe the emotion he was feeling at that point. Embarking upon a journey into that tunnel was as painful as the notion of thrusting his hand into a scalding pot of water – his entire being was screaming at him to stop, to back away.

Gradually, he repositioned himself. He had to have his arms free, as even the thought of having them pinned to his sides made him nauseous. So, taking a deep breath, Athos placed his arms out in front of him and shimmied in through the opening, and into the darkness.

The floor beneath him was rough, covered with a layer of dust and small stones; debris that had fallen from the roof, over the years. Thankfully, he could not feel the wall rubbing against either his back, or his shoulders, and for that he was very grateful. Bit by bit, he snaked forward. The air was cold and dank, and occasionally he thought he could hear a noise, but he put the idea from his head, not wanting to consider the source of any such sound.

Little by little, Athos began to believe he could do this, and despite the pounding of his heart and the dryness in his mouth, he was managing to keep his terror under control. It helped that he could see nothing, but as his confidence increased, Athos attempted to look up to check if there was any sign of daylight.

He regretted it instantly, as his head smacked against a rough and very hard, rocky outcrop, and he felt the resulting blow send shockwaves along his body. He gritted his teeth, a small moan escaping his lips, the strange tickling sensation upon his cheek the only indication that it bled. Heart beating even faster, he pulled himself forward once more, but his instincts began to scream for him to stop, his body sensing a change. He was not even aware of his pulse quickening, as the passage – already too tight – now began to scrape along his shoulders. The tunnel was narrowing.

Athos closed his eyes again. Not that it made any difference – he had been inside this living hell for hours, or minutes or seconds, who knew? He had no idea anymore. He pulled his knees up in an attempt to propel himself along, but could not pull them high enough to make much headway; he needed another method of manoeuvring. Digging his toes into the floor, he pushed, angling his shoulders and, at the same time, pulling with his elbows. Rough, hewn rocks dug into the flesh of his arms and chest.

Athos did not think it could get much worse when, to his horror, he came to an abrupt halt, his back caught by the outcrop – the very one he had struck his head upon. He could no longer go forward or backward.

This time, he could not override his sense of terror with reason, and panic finally won. Athos began to struggle, but the more he wriggled, the more the rocky roof tore into his back, whilst the floor cut through his inner arms and ripped at his chest. As he lashed out within the confined space, dust and stones covered his body. He was stuck, and destined to be buried alive. Beyond terrified, he lay still, his breathing so fast that he thought his lungs would explode. So this was it. His body would not move, and the ceiling floor and walls all pressed in upon him as though they were shrinking. He heard a mewling noise, which began to grow and increase in pitch until it sounded unearthly, unnatural, chilling. He cringed, shivering in the dark and dreading what it could be, until he realised the sound came from him, deep within – the reaction of a man experiencing his own worse nightmare, living through his own live burial.

Panic still ruled every thought, his body reacting involuntarily to his plight, and it was only the pain caused by his struggling that eventually forced him to calm. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets; he could feel it coursing over his skin, stinging when it reached the hundreds of small open wounds that now marred his stomach, back, and arms.

His mind was reeling. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He wanted to tear at his own skin, tear himself from out of this trap. He could not think straight, and he gulped in air, which just made his chest even more painful. He fought hard to regulate his breathing, his throat ragged and burning, so dry, coated with dust. At least the effort gave him something to think about, and gradually he forced his lungs to co-operate, the coughing slowly subsiding.

As Athos began to regain some semblance of control, so he began to fully appreciate the position he was in. He would die here, in this tunnel. Not the quick, honourable death of battle, not even the result of a drunken fight – no, here in a dark pit filled with despair. Perhaps this was what he deserved. Perhaps all those nightmares, all those regrets, perhaps those spectres that haunted his dreams would enjoy watching his descent into madness. Perhaps the ghost of Thomas would be appeased by such an end.

Then another face crowded his consciousness. _I knew you were not fit to take my name, my title… too sensitive, too weak…. _His father's voice echoed in the darkness, and he could hear the derision in his tone. _The future Comte… afraid of the dark_... His spiteful laughter bounced off the encroaching walls, and Athos wanted to put his hands over his ears to drown out the cruel cacophony, but he could not – he could only gouge out the soil and rock beneath his fingers and scream.

He had no idea how long he lay there, inert, tears mixing with the dirt and blood upon his face. It felt as though it had been hours, a lifetime, but in reality, it could only have been mere seconds.

Then, from somewhere, another voice, a different tone… _We need you Athos, I need you… _Treville, Captain, mentor, the only real father figure he had ever known… _do this for us… _Yes, he would, he would try again, for his Captain, and for his friends.

He took a deep, slow breath, and attempted to push his body as far into the ground as he could. At first, all he could feel was the searing pain upon his back as the linen shredded even more and the ceiling scraped at his flesh with jagged fingers, cruelly intent upon holding him fast within their clutches. His face was forced into the dirt and, momentarily, he felt the panic begin to build once more, as the floor of the tunnel suffocated him.

Athos gritted his teeth and released a feral growl, as in stages, he worked past the agony and pushed through it. Grain by grain of dust, he began to make progress. The pain was now fierce on his upper back, his shoulders having passed through the narrow spot already. He felt the knife-like granite slice through his skin as he attempted another push, then nothing; he was no longer aware of any pressure upon his body – not on his back nor upon his shoulders. He pulled again, and this time he moved more freely. Again and again he began to advance.

Once more, he was aware of a subtle change; nothing drastic, but something had altered. He could make out his fingers – not well, but just a little, and the tunnel was lighter. Could that really mean he was nearing the end? Was daylight making its way inside? With a renewed energy and an almost frenzied desire for freedom, Athos crawled further and further. Occasionally he would feel the rock upon his shoulders and his breathing would hitch, but so far he had not encountered another spot where he was completely stuck.

Yes, there it was; a wink, just a small flash – surely it was daylight. Athos was about to laugh – he had done it – when a distant rumble halted his movement. Dust dropped from the roof above, immediately followed by a wave of heat and a sound that assaulted his senses, as the earth all around him seemed to buckle and writhe. All Athos could do was tense his body and tuck his head down as best he could, but really he was able to accomplish little in the way of protection. He felt a rain of debris on his head, his legs and his arms. Please, God, not now. Do not let me be buried alive.

ooOoo

Milady, the King and the Musketeers burst out of the fortress running, through the ancient archway, grabbing the grazing horses and mounting swiftly; riding to the far side of the moat before anyone spoke another word.

Milady was the first one off her horse, breaking into a run when, once again, Porthos barred her passage and grabbed her arm. His eyes flashed with surprise when a small dagger was pressed against his throat.

'Take your hand off me, or I _will _slit your throat,' she hissed, her green eyes filled with anger.

'Porthos,' Aramis pleaded, his voice calm and steady. 'Milady, please, there is no need for this.' He felt the full force of her fury as he made a move toward her, and her eyes met his.

'Really? Then tell that to this big oaf, who keeps thinking he has the right to manhandle me whenever he sees fit!' Aramis would have laughed at the comment had the woman not been holding a knife.

'Porthos, just let her go,' Treville instructed, though his voice sounded weary.

The big Musketeer snorted. 'Just curious where she was plannin' to run off to.'

Milady pulled her arm from his grip and lowered her blade, glaring at him in astonishment. 'Exactly where did you think I might be running to? Gaston? Really? Even now?' She shook her head and threw up her hands in frustration. 'If you really want to know, you fool, I was going to try and find where that tunnel emerges. Or are you not interested?'

Porthos ran his hands through his hair. 'You really think he will attempt it?' he muttered, still not trusting her one little bit.

'Yes. I certainly do not believe he will do _nothing._' Her voice broke ever so slightly, and Aramis spoke again.

'She is right. If he is in that tunnel, we need to find where it comes out.' They looked at each other, mistrust still heavy in the atmosphere, until the Captain's voice broke the impasse.

'Very well, let us do this properly and put together what we know. Milady, where on this diagram was the outside window?' They turned as one to see that Treville had drawn a rough diagram of the fortress from the slim information he had gleaned.

It took Milady a moment to realise what he was asking her, then she crouched at his side and added what information she could. Treville persisted. 'So the tunnel probably runs in this direction.' He drew a straight line, his hand hesitating briefly, and then continued. 'Underneath the moat.' He looked up, aware from his men's reactions that they understood his meaning.

'What is it?' Milady urged, sensing the unspoken communication between the men. 'What is wrong?' She attempted an air of annoyance, but Aramis could clearly hear the fear in her voice, and even the King eyed the men with anticipation, aware they knew something he did not.

'We do not know how much powder is in that cellar, but when it blows…' He could not finish the sentence – what he was suggesting was too horrible to contemplate.

'You are saying it might breach the structure of the tunnel… that it might fill with water?' she asked, eyes filled with horror. But the question was purely rhetorical – she did not need the Musketeer to speak in order to have her answer, his expression was answer enough.

'Then we must hurry. If he is in there he needs to get movin',' Porthos shouted, already heading in the direction indicated by the diagram. 'We need to make sure that entrance is clear.' Despite his injury, he was gone before anyone else could comment, but they were soon on their feet, following in the big man's wake.

They shouted and searched, panic evident in their calls, but in the end, it was the explosion that showed them what they were looking for. There was a deep rumble from the ground beneath their feet, then the blast spewed bricks and debris up into the air as the fortress disintegrated, dust and smoke blocking out the sun. Flames blazed high into the air, and covering their heads they took shelter, as fragments of the château rained down upon them.

'Look!' cried Aramis. 'Over there!' A little way ahead and up a small incline, smoke appeared to be billowing out of the hillside, and the searchers felt a spark of hope as they raced toward the spot, hardly daring to consider what they might find.

ooOoo

Whilst outside the entrance to the tunnel voices were crying out for his attention, Athos could hear nothing. The blast had rendered him almost completely deaf, only a ringing inside his ears penetrating the effects of the shockwave.

He lay still, frightened to move, frightened to ascertain just how much damage had been done to the tunnel. When the debris eventually ceased to fall upon him, he readied himself to move. There was a little weight upon his legs, but it did not feel as though he were trapped. Gingerly, he shook his head. Dust filled his mouth and he began to cough, a dry racking sound, so parched that the sensation tore at his throat, making him heave. When nothing further occurred, he began to move forward, just as before; only now with every move, dust and stone fell upon his head, a continuous reminder of the weakening structure.

The noise he had attempted to ignore when he first entered the tunnel was still evident, only now it had changed, coming more regularly and with more intensity. To begin with, the swordsman had feared it was merely vermin, and though he had no particular fear of rats, he had not relished the idea of coming face to face with one, literally, under such circumstances. However, now the noise was amplified, it became apparent it had nothing to do with rats – in fact he rather wished it had, because the alternative was worse, far worse. If he was not mistaken, the noise he had heard before had been dripping water – only now it was no longer dripping.

It did not take long for Athos to begin feeling the dampness soaking through his clothing just a little, but how long it would take to cover him completely, or how deep it would get, he dared not imagine. He was trying to crawl a little quicker, but if he caught the sides or top of the tunnel, he was showered with yet more debris.

Athos' breathing was becoming laboured, probably through the smoke and dust he had been forced to inhale. His chest hurt, but whether because his lungs were painful, or whether it was slashed to ribbons, it hardly mattered anymore. Despite the freezing cold water, he was hot and his arm ached abominably, the infection he suspected in his wrists merely confirmed. However, the most important thing right now was the tiny sparkle of light he thought he had glimpsed before the explosion. However, it had since disappeared, and he considered the possibility it had been nothing more than a trick of the mind, teasing him with cruel hope, for there was no longer any sign of it.

Athos, moved at a snail's pace. His shoulder sockets were protesting; they had taken quite a battering over the last few days, but the position he found himself in now, with his arms doing most of the work, was almost the last straw. His fingertips felt raw, and so sore, and occasionally a particularly sharp rock or stone would send pain searing across his palms, which were not faring much better. He was having to pull harder, and more than once he had feared he was stuck, the roof of the tunnel bearing down upon him. But it was not just that – he sensed more of an incline, which explained why it was not just his rapidly weakening state that was making it so much more difficult for him to make progress.

Athos reached forward, his fingers touching something soft. As he felt around, loose dirt fell upon his hands and bits of rubble rolled upon his head. His breathing began to increase, and his heartbeat pounded in his chest. A roof-fall – the way forward was blocked. Oh God, he was trapped!

ooOoo

All five of them reached the source of the smoke at the same time, dust raining down upon them. Porthos coughed and spluttered as he threw himself upon the grass and clawed at the bushes and foliage surrounding the area. With help from the others, he gradually cleared a space, and a grille, very like the one inside the fortress cell, was revealed; the good news being that it was a little larger.

'This is it, this is the way in. Athos! Athos can you hear me?' Porthos' booming voice seemed to be eaten up by the darkness, and was followed only by silence. He turned to face the others, his desperation clear from the desolate expression on his face.

'That does not mean he is not in there, just that he cannot hear you,' Aramis pointed out, attempting to be positive.

Meanwhile, Athos could feel a growing pool of water settling beneath the lower part of his body, which soon would cover his legs entirely. The fact the tunnel rose just a little, meant his upper body and head may remain above water a little longer, but eventually, if he could not clear the rubble, submerged they would be. Stone by stone he tried to dig his way through, but with little room to manoeuvre, he only pulled more rubble down upon his head.

Porthos took hold of the grate and pulled with all his might, even though the pain it caused made him cry out in agony. Still, it was enough, and he found himself hurtling backward as the grate came away in his hands.

'That is enough!' Aramis cried. 'Before you make another move, I _will _look at that shoulder.' The look on his face dared his friend to argue, but the big Musketeer just nodded in agreement, a sure sign he was in pain.

Whilst Aramis began cutting away cloth and tutting over the wound, the King and Treville knelt closer to the hole. 'Here,' Aramis said, passing a small lantern and flint to give them a little light.

Treville lay flat on his stomach and wriggled his head and shoulders inside the gap. He could see a fair way, but the feel of the walls touching his body made his skin shrink in fear. Pulling out, he shook his head.

'God knows how Athos would cope trying to crawl into that tunnel. I have no particular fear, and just attempting that much made me cringe. I cannot get far enough inside to see what is happening.'

'Let me try, Captain. I am of slighter build than you,' the King offered. This time all eyes were on the monarch, even Porthos, who was gritting his teeth whilst Aramis closed his wound. Louis smiled. 'I may be a King, but I owe my life to Athos – twice I believe. Let me try.' Not waiting for permission, he lowered himself down to where Treville had been, moving slowly forward, as he had seen the Captain do, pushing the lantern in front of him. He managed to crawl in as far as his knees, bit-by-bit slowly being swallowed up by the narrow passageway. Treville was just considering calling a halt on the attempt, when he heard the King's voice.

'Captain, if you would be so kind as to pull me out now please.' Treville hesitated, not sure how to comply, before seizing hold of the King's ankles and pulling him slowly from the hole. When Louis finally emerged from underneath the dust and grime, he was very pale indeed.

'That is not something I would willingly do again.' He swallowed hard, and Aramis passed him a small flask. The King took it gratefully, taking a swig of the contents. Sighing, with no small amount of relief, he smiled. 'Apologies, I could not go any further, it was terrifying. I almost hope Athos decided to stay in the cell, at least it would have been quick. Though nobody had dared to say such a thing, it had been upon everyone's mind, but hearing it stated aloud, they shivered at the mention of the grim alternative.

Still the King continued. 'I do believe the roof has fallen in a little way up ahead. It was quite recent I should think, most probably from the explosion.' He let the snippet of information drop into the conversation not realising the impact it would have upon his audience.

'Athos could be behind that blockage!' Porthos bellowed, making a move to stand.

'Whoa, there is no way you would ever fit into that space my friend, even if I had not just sewn up your shoulder.' Aramis smiled sadly at the big man.

Milady had stood quietly, watching and listening. She looked from man to man and made her decision.

'I am smaller than all of you.' She began to take off her cloak. 'I will go into the hole.' She took her dagger and cut into the full sleeves of her once elaborate gown, making a tearing sound as she pulled them away, her torso now much narrower and streamlined. Nobody had said a word.

'Well, I will not be offended by your lack of effort to dissuade me; I shall try not to take it personally. All I ask is that you tie a rope around my waist then, if I cannot reach Athos or move the debris, I would appreciate you pulling me back out.' She searched from face to face, unsure if she could trust them to do what she asked.

Treville began to move, fetching a length of rope from Aramis' mount. 'Thank you,' he said simply. 'You have my word, we _will_ help you out if you pull upon the rope.' She knew he was sincere; he may not like her, but he would not kill her deliberately, at least not like that. She let the Captain tie the rope around her waist and, once they were both happy it was secure, she took a length of it in her hand, along with the small lantern. Bit by bit she crawled inside the hole.

Being so much smaller, unlike the men she was not as aware of the walls closing in upon her. She pulled herself forward, grateful for the rope and the lantern, but fighting off thoughts of being stuck in such a place, in the dark, with no one waiting to help.

At last, she saw the roof-fall before her, just as the King had described. It appeared to be mostly dirt and small stones, with no indication of large rocks, and as the passage was wider for her, unlike Athos she was able to push the debris away to the side. At first it worked, but the more soil she loosened, the harder it was for her to navigate the growing piles.

Sighing in exasperation, she tugged on the rope, hoping that the Musketeers would respond. With a sigh of relief, she became aware of the rope pulling her backward. She pushed with her hands and, with a little assistance, she slowly made her way back along the tunnel.

As she emerged into the daylight, she screwed her eyes shut as the brightness dazzled her.

'Well?' Porthos asked, making no attempt to hide his meaning – he was asking about the tunnel, not her wellbeing.

'The tunnel is blocked, as the King suggested. I can loosen the fall, but I need it out of my way and there is not enough room to move and crawl past the rubble I have shifted. I need to bring it to the mouth of the tunnel a little at a time. What can we put it in?' Five pairs of eyes searched the area for inspiration.

'We have a cooking pan, but it is only small,' Treville offered. Milady's gaze settled upon Aramis.

'Give me your hat.' she instructed, holding out her hand. Aramis raised his brows, his own hand flying protectively to his head gear. Porthos even managed a chuckle.

'Give 'er your 'at,' the big man chortled, unable to hide his mirth at his friend's discomfort.

'It is only a hat, Aramis,' Treville added, he, too, attempting to hide a grin.

Reluctantly, Aramis handed over one of his fondest possessions. 'Do not lose it,' he requested, attempting to maintain some dignity despite the reaction of the party around him. Rolling her eyes at the absurdity, Milady turned to Treville.

'Re-tie the rope around my ankle. It was hard to move and dig with it in my hand; this way you will getter better leverage, and I can tug it much more easily.' Treville did as she requested, and when the rope was secure once more, with hat and lantern, she re-entered the tunnel, moving a little quicker now she knew what she was doing. When she reached the blockage, she pushed the hat before her and dragged at the soil and rubble, pulling it into the recess until she could fit no more inside. She tugged upon the rope, and this time, though it was not pleasant on her arms and knees, she moved quite swiftly backwards through the tunnel. Without a word, she emptied the collected wreckage and returned to the obstruction once again.

Time and time again she repeated the manoeuvre – ignoring Porthos' request for information the minute she appeared – but she was tiring. Aramis had offered to treat her cuts before she entered yet again, but she had declined either rest or attention until she could make the journey no more.

ooOoo

Athos tried once more to pull at the debris, but yet again it simply fell upon his head, making him cough and wheeze. He was shivering uncontrollably now, lying in freezing cold water up to his chest. It was only rising slowly, and he hoped that maybe it would only rise so far and he would still be able to breathe. But what difference would that make? He could make no further progress, and perhaps drowning would be quicker. He was beyond terror now, and could not even control the rapid beating of his heart, though at the very least, the heat it produced may stop him from succumbing to the numbing temperature of the water. Athos had lain still for several minutes when suddenly dirt fell upon his head once again. At first, he did not react, but when it happened again, only this time quite substantially, he dared to raise his eyes.

For a moment Athos thought he was hallucinating – the cold, the shivering, the infection, all beginning to take over his sanity. The dirt before him appeared to take on a life of its own, moving and snaking toward him. Was the ground shaking again? Oh God, do not let it be the moat. Athos groaned out loud at the prospect, as even more loose soil covered his fingers.

Milady stopped digging. What was that? Had she heard a sound? 'Athos! Athos, can you hear me? It is I, Anne. Athos, answer me, god damn you!' Gasping with exhaustion and despair, she collapsed, laying her face on her arms and listened, heart beating out of her chest.

Athos watched the grains of dirt slither from the pile, then thought he heard a voice. He scowled, was his reason finally leaving him? Was he to die alone _and_ mad, in this hell hole? But no, he heard the voice again. Anne? Was that his wife's voice? He almost laughed at the irony – the one spectre he would expect to enjoy this spectacle – but he could no longer even manage that.

'Athos, speak to me. Do not think you are going to die in this stinking tunnel. Speak to me – you will not ignore me again. Please… Olivier… _please _answer me.' This time the voice sounded so desperate, Athos could not help but respond, even if it was to converse with phantoms from his memory.

'Anne, even now you berate me. But at least you are here, so I suppose I will not die entirely alone.' He managed to smile, the water now almost to his armpits.

Even though she could not quite make out the words, she heard the deep rumble of his voice, and began to cry and laugh in equal measure. She clawed at the dirt, pulling more and more into the hat and, just as she believed she would have to empty it and begin again, her right hand shot forward.

As a pale white hand appeared like a vision before him, Athos' heart almost missed a beat, but the voice that accompanied it suddenly sounded so very real.

'Athos? Athos are you there?'

As the hand came closer, Athos reached forward and grasped the cold, soft fingers. 'Anne, is that really you, or is this just one, final, cruel illusion?'

Milady cried out in shock, as her hand was suddenly gripped by ice cold fingers. She heard his voice clearly now, even though it was raspy and ragged, and tears ran freely down her face.

'Yes, Athos, it is me. We are going to get you out of here now, just be patient a little longer.' She stroked those long fingers, so happy to know he was alive.

'Anne, I am h… appy… but as to being patient... th… there is a slight problem.' The tone of his voice made her stomach roll.

'What? Apart from being stuck in a narrow tunnel? Is that not enough?' She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart was thumping against her ribs. Was he injured, paralysed? What? She dreaded his reply.

'Explosion… compromised the tunnel.' She could hear him struggling to talk. 'It is slowly... filling with water… it… it is up to my… sh… shoulders and rising… quite qui… quickly… so… cold.' She could clearly hear the shivering in his voice as it broke and faded. He was running out of time.

'I must let go now, I need to go back for help. I will return, I promise. Do you hear me, Athos?' There was no immediate answer. 'Athos, do you hear me?'

'I can… hear you.' She felt his fingers slip from hers.

'Do not dare go to sleep on me, Athos, not now you have come this far. Wait for me, please, I beg you.'

'You… do not… beg.' She heard a strangled chuckle, followed by a rasping cough. Wincing she replied, quietly but sternly.

'Well I am begging now.' With that, she tugged hard on the rope, and immediately felt herself being pulled along the tunnel. She was no longer aware of the pain, merely the rising sense of excitement and urgency.

As she burst out of the tunnel, she cried out at the same time as Porthos.

'What the bloody 'ell you been doin'?' he growled out in impatience.

'He is alive, alive,' she spluttered, tears of joy and fear running down her filthy face.

'What?' Treville barked, holding his hand out for Aramis' flask. Once she had swallowed the brandy, she began to speak.

'He is just beyond the roof-fall, but the water is rising, and it is up to his neck. He is freezing and losing consciousness. How injured he is I cannot say, but he needs to get out now, and I am not sure how we are going to achieve it. Captain, he does not have much time!'


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

They looked from one to another, hardly believing it could have come to this.

'Well?' Milady searched the face of each man in turn as they responded to her question, looking for some sign, some indication of an idea. Every savage beat of her heart was a reminder of the seconds they were wasting, seconds Athos did not have.

Treville's brow furrowed in concentration. 'How deep is the blockage?'

'I am not sure. When I clasped his hand the soil was past my elbow, but other than that I could not say. Milady fidgeted with impatience as she awaited Treville's response. The Captain appeared to be considering the information, but he remained annoyingly silent.

'We can't let 'im drown,' Porthos moaned, though it was more a statement than a complaint.

Aramis ran his hand through his hair. 'I thought he may drown himself in drink, but…'

'Of course, that is it!' Treville stared at Aramis as if the Musketeer had said something amazing. 'Like a cork in a bottle. We need to let the water work for us.' Treville could not explain his theory quickly enough, his words tumbling out one after the other. 'Milady says she cannot move the soil in time to prevent Athos from drowning, but if we use the pressure of the water, then maybe it will do part of the job for us.' The Captain was aware of the faces staring at him, a general air of scepticism emanating from each of them. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued. 'At the very worst, it may help level out the water enough for Athos to breathe.' He looked around to see how his idea was being received but had to admit the others' reactions were not particularly encouraging.

'What do you suggest I do?' Milady asked, urgency evident in her tone. She was ready to move into action – it was the only suggestion, and though it was not particularly brilliant, it would have to do.

Treville hurried toward the opening, talking to the woman as he went. 'Move as much soil as you can, not just from the centre, but all around, try to thin out the fallen earth. You need to weaken it so that the force of the water will push it toward the entrance.'

'You will need to pull hard when I signal – you will be pulling us both,' Milady pointed out. She still sounded unsure, but what else could they do?

Milady did not wait for further discussion. 'Tie the rope.' With a flurry of activity the rope was reattached, and Aramis offered her the flask. 'I am sorry, you have some nasty wounds. I will make sure they are tended when this is done.' If this was meant as an apology, Milady considered it a rather poor one. However, the brandy was welcome. She drank quickly, then dropped to the floor and crawled back inside the dark shaft.

ooOoo

Athos had heard his wife retreat along the tunnel, then there was nothing but silence. The water now up to his chin, he did not have long, and he had no idea where Anne had gone. He parted his lips to breathe, but only ended up swallowing a mouthful of water. It was filthy, and the foul taste made him gag.

He felt panic rise inside once more. The swordsman had fought it for so long, but to drown in this dark pit of despair was too cruel – surely even he did not deserve such a fate. He battled to calm his shivering body, suppressing the urge to lash out, to fight his way through this tomb, this watery grave, but truth was he was too tired. The prospect of struggling was only in his mind, his body simply could no longer comply. Athos' eyelids were heavy, beginning to droop. Perhaps it would not be so bad if he let himself go to sleep, perhaps he would not notice when his lungs slowly filled with water. If he just closed his eyes, just floated in the current, he would rest, and by then it would be too late.

ooOoo

As Milady moved through the tunnel, more rapidly now that she was familiar with its terrain, she began to dread what she would find. 'Athos, can you hear me? Athos, answer me!' Her heart began to pound, and as she crawled, she ran through the possibilities of what might lie ahead. If he had fallen asleep; if he had allowed his head to sink below the water. 'Athos!' She was almost at the fall-in now, just about able to make it out by the illumination from the lantern.

Athos was drifting away, contemplating his end – his eyes closed, the blissful silence sapping his reality – when the scraping noise returned. Voices, he could hear voices. He wanted to sleep, why would they not let him sleep? Someone was calling his name, but they were far away, too far to hear. The water lapped against his cheek and he felt cradled, as though he were being soothed with a lullaby. If only the voice would stop and let him rest.

Thrusting the light to one side, she felt for the gap she had created earlier. Plunging her hand though the hole, she felt around for Athos' hand. Her heart leapt as something touched her fingers. 'Athos, are you awake?'

Suddenly, something touched his hand, and the surprise was enough to jolt Athos back to wakefulness. He was confused, and the shivering reminded him just how cold he was. Then he heard her voice, clearly this time, felt her fingers reaching for his, and like a man clinging to the last thread of sanity, he gripped them with every bit of strength he had left.

'Mmm… yes… sorry…' He began to cough, and she could tell he had swallowed water.

'Listen, Athos, listen very carefully. I am going to let go. I need to scrape more dirt away, and as soon as the water begins to run through this hole, we need to use the flow to help shift the soil. Do you understand?' There was no immediate reaction.

He heard her words… _let the water help… use it to get free._ He heard what she was saying, but somehow he could not quite take it in – then the water closed over his head and everything went black.

Milady heard a garbled noise, and had a horrible feeling that, whether because of the rising levels or his weakening state, Athos was now underwater. Motivated by emotions she did not want to acknowledge, she reacted with every ounce of strength she had left, clawing at the soil like someone possessed.

Flying earth rained down upon her, scratching at her eyes and finding its way into her airways, but she kept on, pushing it away from her as best she could. The hole did not appear to be getting any bigger, but still she scraped away at it, her fingers sore and torn. As a sob caught in her throat, her body near the point of exhaustion, she felt something else, not just soil, but water. It was beginning to run in small rivulets onto her face.

The leaking moat began to flow more rapidly. Her fingers were tearing at mud now, and it came away much easier. Her body had cleared the obstruction almost up to her shoulders and she was moving the earth in large, muddy clods. As the water flowed past her, so did the soil. Surely the level on the other side would have to drop now. Her chest was heaving and she had to blink to clear the mucky residue from her eyes. Water was pouring over her head, but it continued past her and poured down the tunnel, so she had no fear of drowning. As she scrabbled in the stinking mud, a large section of the blockage gave way, sending sludge and muck over her head and shoulders. Her breathing hitched, as it covered her ears and face, and she began to thrash about, believing the tunnel to be collapsing on top of her. As the flow of filth began to subside, so did her panic, and as the alarm in her head began to fade, she realised most of the blockage had gone.

Milady wriggled further forward feeling around, desperately searching for Athos. Sobbing with relief she felt his arms and began to pull.

Under the water Athos held his breath, but it was so quiet. Cold and dark, but peaceful, like being in a dream. Something was striking his arms, spoiling his reverie. He opened his mouth to protest and water poured in. Coughing and spluttering, he let the solace of the water-induced vision dissipate. Inexplicably, Athos was filled with one final urge to fight for self-preservation and, feeling in the mud and darkness, he clung on to the hands that reached for him.

Milady tugged at the rope with her foot, aware how tenuous her grip on Athos was. 'Pull, damn you,' she sobbed. Nothing happened. What were they doing? Those men might hate her, but she knew they would not abandon Athos. At last she felt the rope go taut. 'Athos, if you can hear me, whatever you do, do not let go. Do you hear me? DO NOT LET GO!' She was yelling now, spitting out the sludge that had worked its way into her mouth as she did so.

Gradually, she began to move backward, and Milady felt her hands slide on her husband's muddy arms. 'NO, Athos! Do not let me lose hold of you.' She felt so helpless as his arms slipped slowly through her hands. 'Nooo!' Then, just as she thought she would lose him, his hands grasped her fingers tightly. 'Yes, hold on!' For the longest while, it felt as though little was happening. Then, gradually, with the flow of water and the gradual pulling of the rope, she felt herself begin to move more quickly, and with her, Athos. She could only pray her arms would hold as her shoulders screamed in protest.

ooOoo

'Will it work?' The King had remained quiet for some time, and the Musketeers were so wrapped up in Athos' predicament that they had almost forgotten he was present. Louis was certainly not the man they were used to. Filthy and dressed in farming clothing, there was no air about him, no trace of the peevish child they knew so well. As he addressed them now, the King spoke quietly, as if he regretted having to ask the question.

Treville shrugged his shoulders, all trace of his earlier excitement and enthusiasm having vanished. What had appeared to be a good idea only moments ago now held very few points of merit. Aramis distractedly picked up his discarded hat and attempted to brush it clean. The afternoon was warm and still; dust remained suspended in the air and in the distance smoke still rose from the smouldering rubble.

'I still do not know why it had to be my hat.' The other three men turned at the sound of the medic's voice, but only Porthos responded, slapping his friend gently on the shoulder. The big man accepted the remark for what it was: a desperate attempt to break the silence; to focus on something, anything, other than what was transpiring inside that tunnel.

Porthos, having reassured the medic he understood, now paced up and down in irritation, face like thunder, filled with a burning rage, and frustrated that he could find nobody to blame or to vent his fury upon.

'Water!' Aramis shouted, and all eyes turned toward the tunnel. As they stared transfixed, a steady flow of water and muck began to pour from the tunnel. The Musketeers and the King watched in horror, knowing the emergent slurry could mean only one thing – the obstacle had finally been breached, leaving a sickening sense of dread at what that might mean for the two people trapped beneath ground.

When Treville finally felt the tug upon the rope, his subsequent cry of relief had all three men attend him immediately.

'We need to pull!' the Captain yelled.

Porthos manhandled Treville out of the way – this was not the time to stand upon ceremony, or acknowledge rank. The fighter took up the slack, the others forming a line behind him, and Louis hesitated, but only for a second, before he, too, took up the rope.

'On three!' the big Musketeer shouted. 'One, two, three!' They pulled, but nothing gave. 'Again. One, two, three!' This time they put everything they had into it, and they were soon rewarded when, albeit slowly, the rope began to move.

'Do not pull them out too quickly!' Aramis suddenly yelled. 'We could injure them if we drag them out too fast.' The others understood the Musketeer's fear, but the adrenalin was now flowing freely, and each man was too consumed with his own urgent sense of purpose to give the request much credence.

ooOoo

The journey that had earlier taken just a few minutes, now acquired a whole new time scale. From the moment she had clasped Athos hands, seconds and minutes appeared to have slowed almost to a stop. The rope had pulled hard upon her ankle, and she had felt the rough hemp claw at her skin, as at first neither she nor Athos moved. Then, gradually, along with the muddy river, Athos began to appear through the muck and grime – first his shoulders then his head – though if she had not known it was her husband, she would not have recognised him. Hair plastered to his head, shirt in rags, all she could make out were the whites of his eyes as he blinked away the filthy water.

Athos pushed with his feet, and was amazed as the slick mud began to aid his passage through the tunnel. He felt Milady's hands begin to slip and, as he felt his hope diminishing, his fingers clamped tight, something deep inside re-emerging, wanting and needing to see daylight once again. The obstacle was little more than a frame of soil and debris now, with the men outside hauling on the rope, and both Athos and Milady began to slip and slide their way toward the light glowing golden at the entrance.

The men outside groaned and yelled. Teeth gritted and hands burning, still they leant into the tension and pulled. Bit by bit they passed the rope through their painful palms as the slack began to increase.

Porthos howled in agony, shoulder flaring. Then, to his utter joy, two bodies flopped from the oozing mouth of the tunnel as if it had given birth to demons from hell.

Athos and Milady lay motionless, panting for breath, still clasping one another's hands. Aramis went straight into medic mode.

'Porthos, water, clean water. Try over by the stables, there must be a well of some kind.' Though the big man was desperate to check Athos was really alive, he understood Aramis' request. God alone knew what filth adhered to the swordsman's body.

Tenderly, Aramis pulled their hands apart, though he noted the resistance on both parts. He could not tell how badly his friend was hurt, so heavily was he coated with mud. Milady struggled to sit up, but Athos still lay on his back, eyes closed.

'How badly is he hurt?' Her voice was ragged, and the question came out in a far more aggressive manner than she intended. Aramis glanced at her, and for the first time felt a pang of guilt over his treatment of the woman.

'I cannot tell, there is little of him that is not covered in mud,' the medic replied. 'I do not wish to wipe it away in case I rub it into any wounds.' At that, Porthos appeared carrying two large wooden buckets.

Aramis took them and considered the still form of his friend. 'I am sorry, Athos, but I'm not sure there is a better way.' He took the first bucket and began to pour it over Athos' head. The swordsman, hovering between sleep and consciousness, was suddenly back in the tunnel once more. He began to thrash around, drowning in his fevered mind.

'Athos, it is I, Aramis. You are safe, mon amis, calm yourself.' He looked at Porthos and nodded. The big Musketeer knelt beside the panicked form of his friend and gently placed his hands upon his shoulders. As the water began to wash away the soil, the extent of the damage was slowly revealed.

Treville hovered over the two men as Athos began to calm. 'No more… water,' Athos moaned.

Porthos began to chuckle. 'No, never was your favourite.' He eyed the medic, who merely rolled his eyes but, despite his irritation, Aramis produced the flask of brandy and held it to Athos' mouth. The man choked a little, but the slight twitch of his lips was a sight to behold.

Gradually, Athos' eyes fluttered open, causing him to squint in pain, not sure if it was as a result of the grit or the blinding light. Aramis noted his discomfort and gently wiped at his face, attempting to remove the remainder of the mud.

Porthos hurried to fetch fresh water and Aramis gradually worked his way over Athos' chest and arms; luckily his legs had survived most of the jagged rocks, protected by the leather of his trousers and boots. As the mud washed away, the blood began to flow more freely from his wounds; some were slight abrasions, others were deep and torn. The day was coming to a close and Athos was shivering. Aramis examined the flesh around his left wrist and began to shake his head.

'What is wrong?' It was the first time the Captain had spoken since Athos had emerged. Having initially let Aramis have room to do what was needed, both he and the King now hovered close by, waiting to hear what worried the medic.

'He has a nasty infection from the abrasions on his wrist, and time will tell if any of these cuts will fester.' As he was talking, he indicated to Porthos to help him roll Athos onto his stomach. The swordsman tried to protest, but he really did not have the energy to put up much of an objection.

As the water sluiced over his skin, mud and filth ran off his body, and Aramis stopped speaking. The tear that followed Athos spine was ragged and deep; he had dragged himself through the low hanging rocks at the point he had become stuck, and the damage was painfully evident.

'My God, what is that?' Treville asked, horrified by the damage.

As his fingers ran along the jagged skin, Aramis shook his head. 'I can only imagine. The roof was low perhaps. To have the tunnel so close, pressing down…' His voice trailed away as the horror of his suggestion impacted upon the others. The medic shook himself and tried to concentrate on what needed to be done. 'I need a fire, hot water, rags.' He looked around and everyone began to move at once.

Whilst he waited, Aramis remembered the figure quietly watching over the proceedings. 'Milady, may I see to your wounds?' the medic asked gently, unsure how to deal with the woman who had been the source of so much pain to his friend.

'They are not important. Some salve would be sufficient if you have any.' She watched the Musketeer closely – now Athos was safe, she had retreated behind her cold persona. Aramis shrugged and rose to fetch what she needed from his bags.

Milady moved closer to Athos. 'You are safe now, I am glad.' She stroked his skin, feeling the heat begin to radiate from it.

Athos tried to turn over, but she applied pressure to his shoulders, 'No, do not move. Aramis will return soon, and he will make you more comfortable.' There was something in her voice which alerted Athos from his stupor.

'Do not… leave.' He had recognised her intention from the tone of her voice.

'I have no place here. They hate me and, if I am honest, the feeling is mutual. It is time for me to go.' Athos moved his arm and tried to raise his hand. Milady grasped it in her own.

'Wait, just a… little… need to talk.' Athos struggled to speak, a mixture of relief, pain and sheer exhaustion urging him to sleep.

'Here, this should help…' Aramis stopped abruptly, and Milady let go of Athos' hand.

'Thank you.' She took the offered jar and stared at Aramis, as though daring him to pass comment. The medic merely smiled and knelt once more at Athos' side.

'This is going to hurt, mon ami,' Aramis informed his friend as he traced the jagged tear on the swordsman's back.

'Why?' whispered Athos, reaching deep to form the words. 'Are you… going to… waste another good… brandy?' Aramis and Porthos both laughed, and even Milady smiled, each of them picturing the wry twitch that would normally accompany such a quip.

'I am afraid so. Would you like some first?' Athos turned his head, and even through the pain managed to offer an icy stare.

'I thought so.' Aramis nodded to the big man and Porthos gently raised Athos' upper body so that he might take a swig from the bottle. He laid him back on the ground and Athos spoke once more.

'Do not… punch me.' Along with the King and Treville, Milady looked somewhat surprised, but Porthos merely roared with laughter as Aramis began to chuckle.

'No, mon ami, that is your job.' That said, he began to pour the alcohol over Athos' wounds. Porthos placed his hands carefully upon Athos' shoulders once again, attempting to ease the bucking as the swordsman reacted – but there was no cry, just a slow hiss as the stinging liquid did its job.

Milady had seen enough. Turning, she walked slowly away – she needed to think. The reality of her situation was beginning to dawn; now the hunt was over, she had to decide what to do next. She doubted the Cardinal would welcome her with open arms, and should matters take a turn for the worse, she may end up being blamed for a whole host of things – anything to tie events up into a neat parcel. Then there was Sarah; it would be fairly obvious what had happened to her, if the woman had the courage to tell.

No, it was time for a change. She spun round, alerted by the sharp cry of pain. Aramis was pulling a thread taut, no doubt attempting to bring together the tattered edges of Athos' wound. She had no stomach for such dramas – usually only expected to inflict such wounds, not heal them.

The King watched her leave. He, too, did not relish the spectacle before him, and was glad of the distraction.

'She is a rather unusual woman, is she not Treville?' Louis asked, as she vanished amongst the trees.

Treville turned in time to see her disappear. 'Indeed Your Highness, she certainly is.' His brow furrowed as he considered the woman's part in recent events. He could not deny that without her both Athos and the King would both have been dead. What worried him more was what Milady had in mind for the future, and more specifically if that future included Athos.

Aramis worked upon Athos until the light began to fade. As usual, the swordsman did not make it easy for him, refusing to slip into unconsciousness, and not until the last stitch was cut and tied did he finally let himself slip away.

'Why does 'e always bloody do that?' growled Porthos, stretching his limbs, stiff from holding Athos still. 'It would be so much easier if 'e was out of it, instead of grittin' 'is teeth and feelin' every agony. Bloody stubborn bastard.' He walked a way off and Aramis let him go. He knew that is was only that the Musketeer hated to see his friend in so much pain.

'We need to move him. He is still feverish, though I think he has lived through the worst already and somehow survived,' said Aramis, addressing no one in particular.

'Told you. 'E's even too bloody stubborn to die.' Porthos frowned, before finally smiling, as he at last allowed his joy and relief to calm his temper.

Treville searched the area in the fading light. Milady was approaching once more, rubbing her arms to fend off the evening chill. She had removed all semblance of sleeves from her gown when she had entered the tunnel and, now the adrenaline had worn off, she was cold, tired and aching.

'I suppose there is nothing useful left of the structure which would house us for the night, and I do not wish to knock upon Gaston's door, even though I doubt we would find him in.' Louis looked rather alarmed at the prospect, but fortunately Milady interrupted.

'I have just walked along the drive, and there is a small lodge by the gate. It does not look as though anyone has lived in it for some time, but it is still furnished, so presumably it will have a bed.' Her teeth chattered and Aramis approached her with a blanket. Her eyes widened, and for once she smiled and offered her thanks. However, she was under no illusions – he was merely a chivalrous man, one who would not inflict harm if it was unnecessary, but that did not mean he liked her, or cared one way or the other for her welfare. Nonetheless, she was glad of the warmth.

Gradually they made their way to the small building, Porthos carrying Athos in front of him on his horse as though he were carrying the King's jewels. As Milady had said, the house was furnished, everything shrouded in sheets, rising like ghosts in the fading gloom. Though the fabrics had faded, and little visitors had burrowed into the cushions to make their home, the structures were sound. Athos was soon sleeping, if rather fitfully, in a narrow bed, whilst Porthos cooked up something to eat. Treville and the King talked quietly, once or twice looking Milady's way, and she knew she should really leave.

The night passed and morning dawned clear and dry. There was much discussion as to what they should do next, and eventually it was decided that it was impractical for Athos to continue as a passenger with Porthos for the entire journey back to the Château Rambouilet. They doubted that Gaston or any of his entourage would be stupid enough to remain at Amboise, so Porthos, Treville and the King set out to borrow a carriage or some such conveyance for the journey.

Athos slept through most of the day, occasionally coming to just long enough for Aramis to assault him with broth and potions. Once or twice Milady had seen him seek her out and, once reassured she was near, he would sink back to sleep. Aramis, though noting his patient's reaction, had said nothing.

The day was once more drawing to a close, and a small fire burned in the hearth to ward off the evening chill. Porthos and Treville were expected back very soon, when they would begin to prepare for departure. Milady stood at the window, worrying at her lip, as she tried to reach a decision. She had only waited because Athos had asked it of her; the day had dragged, and she was growing impatient. Though no one had spoken to her much at all, she knew they grew restless around her, and when Aramis came to stand beside her, she knew the conversation she had dreaded was imminent.

'Forgive me for asking, but what are your intentions after this? Will you return to Paris?' The Musketeer kept his voice casual, but there were too many hidden words between the lines of his question.

'For a time, yes, but not for long. Paris has outlived its usefulness, I believe.' She did not look at the man; she was sick to the stomach with the sanctimonious civility of them all.

'I suppose it has. Where will you go?' he continued.

'Does it matter? What you really mean is will it be far away from Athos?' This time she turned and glared at the man who sneered at her with feigned courtesy, whilst wishing her a million miles away.

Aramis' smile faded, and for the first time he examined the face that looked at him. Yes, she was undoubtedly a very beautiful woman, and a brave one as she had proven. However, there was a coldness and ruthlessness which emanated from her, and she made no attempt to hide her resentment of his and Porthos' relationship with Athos.

'I cannot but think that it would be for the best,' he said eventually.

Milady stuck out her chin, eyes glittering with anger. 'Best for whom? For you and Porthos, or for Athos?'

Aramis sighed, and for the first time she thought she noted an expression of pity in the medic's eyes. 'Best for the both of you.' He held up his hand as she made to speak. 'There are some things in life that cannot do without the other, but when they are together, the combination is deadly. Gunpowder and flame, for example. I have seen how the two of you are together, and that is what you are, fire and dynamite – cannot live with, and cannot live without. But I think you know deep down that there is only one outcome that will leave you both sane.' His dark eyes were filled with sadness, and she saw no subterfuge or recriminations now.

'What about content?' she whispered, speech somehow difficult as a lump formed in her throat.

Aramis shook his head slowly. 'I am not sure that is possible. I do not believe there is a middle ground.' They eyed one another for a moment, and then she gave the briefest nod and hung her head. She would not let him see the tears that threatened to flow.

'Then I believe it is time for me to go.'

Aramis caught her arm. 'It will be dark soon, wait until morning, and then we can travel together.' She shook her head, her shell of protection surrounding her once more, any hint of vulnerability carefully hidden.

'No, I can look after myself; I certainly do not need a troupe of Musketeers.' Her sarcastic smile hid the sick feeling that pervaded her being.

'Then if that is what you want, I will say thank you. I know what you did – and I know why.' It was probably the worst thing he could have said. Her hand flew to her mouth and she stormed from the room before he could add anything further.

Just then, Treville and Porthos arrived with a carriage, and suddenly the house was filled with noise and the overpowering bombastic presence of men. The noise awoke Athos, who had been asleep on a bed in the corner. Now sitting up, he was in pain and stiff but, apart from being deathly pale, looking more like himself. Just as Aramis had predicted, the fever had been on the wane when he had left the tunnel, the worst of the infection having worked its way through his system. Now he only had his wounds to contend with – at least on the outside.

As they talked and chattered, Milady moved further away from the men; the voice of Aramis, still chiding Athos like a naughty child, gradually beginning to fade. Part of her was glad Athos had these men in his life, but there was an even greater part that hated them for their interference and their influence. She clung onto that belief, for it helped to have them to blame, though she would never allow herself to acknowledge that. In truth, once he had reached a decision, Athos was not a man who could be influenced by the opinion of others– whatever the outcome this night, it would be his desire and never theirs. And it was this which terrified her now. She was no coward, but Milady had no intention of waiting to hear him speak those words, for she knew whatever may be said here, there would be no going back.

With a heavy heart she packed her horse and untied him, leading the animal away from the building, away from the glowing windows, toward the trees that edged the drive. It was time to go, time to make a new life, a new name, create a _new_ past – one _she_ could control and design, one that right now she could only dream of – one she had already had and now lay destroyed in the rubble of her marriage.

Athos was now wide awake. He saw the movement in his peripheral vision and, pushing Aramis' hands away, he turned and watched her preparations to depart. The woman who had so often spoken only of hate and revenge had probably saved his life. He could not let her leave like this. He struggled to his feet, but Porthos blocked his path.

'Let 'er go.' Athos glared at the big man, though every part of him throbbed and protested with each awkward breath he endured. The stubborn swordsman took another step forward, but still Porthos did not move, and the men now hovered nose to nose. Aramis watched the standoff, but he was not afraid – Athos was too weak and Porthos would never hurt Athos, but even attempting to govern their morose brother's behaviour was a recipe for disaster.

'Move aside, Porthos, this is not your business,' Athos growled, the intensity of his stare even more menacing, but Porthos made no effort to move. It was Treville who thankfully broke the tension as, speaking with quiet authority, he addressed the angry Musketeer.

'Porthos, stand aside. I think she has earned five minutes of his time.' Athos glanced at his Captain with surprise. Treville gave the slightest inclination of his head, and Athos acknowledged it with one of his own.

'Five minutes, and I'm countin',' the big Musketeer grumbled.

Athos pretended not to hear his friend's parting remark. Though the very act of moving made him groan, he owed her more than a mere nod of thanks. He sensed the tension in the atmosphere, like a coming storm, a portent of something momentous, as if everything between them over the last two weeks had been leading to this.

Whilst he had moved agonisingly slowly along that tunnel, every advancement tortuous to both body and soul, he had thought of her. Not_ just_ her, but she had hovered in that darkened abyss like a phantom. At times, he had not known if she urged him toward salvation or enjoyed his decent into hell, but she had spoken to him, her voice sometimes cruel, sometimes kind, sometimes sensual and compelling. Now she was leaving, and he felt her impending loss in ways he had not expected.

Milady had seen Athos' awkward attempt to stand, and watched as Porthos endeavoured to stop him. She could not control the anger that rose inside – still they hated her. Eventually, Athos began moving in her direction. Her heart pounded, and her throat was dry. Leaving had been the right decision – despite the encroaching darkness, she could not remain here any longer. In spite of her efforts, regardless of what she had done for Athos and the King, she had long been aware how the other men felt about her, that they were merely tolerating her because of her most recent actions; her actions of the past another thing entirely. Now she refused to stand beneath their honourable judgement any longer. Aramis' advice burned in her head, _cannot live together, cannot live apart_.

Athos had shown his allegiance; as he emerged from that vile hole, it had been them he had embraced. They had pushed her aside, her usefulness spent. But as she watched him now, struggling to walk toward her, she could not deny that some small fragment of her consciousness, somewhere deep inside, trembled. Could there be the slightest possibility that his choice was not yet a foregone conclusion?

Athos stopped beneath the towering trees, the golden light flickering through the new leaves, dappled light playing upon the ground, as the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon. Though the light breeze that ruffled the canopy above them created a slight chill, Athos embraced it; heat still throbbed in his left arm and every one of the small cuts and grazes criss-crossing his body sighed with pleasure as the cold draught cooled their fire.

He had stopped close to her side, though neither spoke. Milady waited, he was so near now, standing merely inches away. Words, desperately struggling to be set free, were almost visible in the evening air, and so heavy was that unspoken conversation that both appeared as if they would suffocate beneath its burden.

_Oh Athos, should I apologise... beg forgiveness... beg you to let us begin again? Would you even listen?_

_If she begged for forgiveness, could I forgive?… Should I forgive?… Could I forget?_

_Should I tell him I love him still?... Do I love him still?… God_,_ yes – so very much._

_Could I let her love me?… Could we ever make this right?_

Their eyes locked, their breathing heavy, and expectation hovering between them in the growing gloom. But, like so many times before, the words remained implicit, silence the only witness to their inevitable failure. The air remained undisturbed; only the swifts sweeping through the sky, heading for their night's rest, made any sound at all.

Athos broke eye contact, looking back toward the lighted windows. The spell was broken. Milady felt the shift in atmosphere; whatever promise had been present before was now replaced with a sense of loss. The old, familiar sensation ignited deep inside, like ice spreading outward, flowing into her veins. How many times had she experienced that unbearable stab of pain, the harsh reality of rejection? She thought she had suffered so much as to be immune – how wrong she had been. A veritable fool, she had allowed her derelict heart to thaw and warm, dared to allow emotion to blossom inside, even to risk hope. Now the iron vice that clamped inside her chest squeezed so hard she thought that her heart would simply cease to beat. And what would it matter if it did? In the end she had let her one chance pass, so what use did she have for a heart anymore?

'Where will you go?' he asked, voice no more than a whisper. So, there it was, he was letting her go… again. That familiar anger began to resurface, the urge to lash out, to hurt back, to hide behind indifference, even hate.

'Does it matter?' Her retort was harsh, cold, the mask of apathy once more in place.

Athos watched the swifts, swooping high above, flirting their freedom in his face. He was tired, not just physically, but right down to his very soul; tired of being torn in too many directions, tired from the burden of too many obligations, fighting to right too many wrongs.

He looked at her once more, trying to understand what he saw. The woman he had loved so powerfully, so completely… how had it ever come to this… his indecision eating away at his sanity – he wanted one thing, but needed to do another. He could not make that leap, that one final step that would take him back to a place of light and love, not with her, no matter that his heart wanted it so very badly. They were poison together, yet desolate apart. Her green eyes glittered in the firelight, and his resolve was just not strong enough. Reaching out he gently stroked her cheek, trying desperately to find the words, the right way to say goodbye.

Her throat was so tight that she could not trust herself to speak. She watched the struggle playing out on his handsome features and, even bruised and broken, she wanted him so badly. When he finally touched her face, she felt the tears she had fought so hard to hold back prick behind her eyes, just another reminder that her treacherous body, no matter how she tried to control it around him, always eventually let her down.

Darkness had closed in around them whilst they had been standing there, the shadows lengthened and melded with the coming night. Athos felt the tear tumble over his fingers and noted the slight tremble of her chin. It was his undoing, and pulling her close he felt that old, familiar thrum of passion spark like a flame. She clung on to his shoulders and it was a kiss like no other, a final goodbye, said in the only way either of them could find to express their emotions. It held all the love, desolation, recriminations and regret that burned within them both; a yearning and a passion that could find no resolution that would not fade with time, or disappointment, forever to haunt their darkest hours with what was, and what might have been.

Milady did not want the moment to end. If only it could have stayed like this, but she knew that when they broke apart, she would still see that look in his eyes, the mistrust, the regret, the unbreachable wall of the past. Finally, he moved his lips to her forehead, but instead of moving away, he drew her into his chest and simply held her close. Perhaps if he had broken free, or spoken, she would have been able to cope, but the act of such rare gentleness was too much.

Athos felt the quiet sobs as he held her tight, he felt her sorrow, the frustration and despair of what could never be. This had to be the end of it, for neither of them could continue like this, keep up this tearing at each other's souls forever. He stroked her hair and felt the shuddering beneath his hands gradually subside. He closed his eyes, as though he could block out what was about to come.

Milady could not remember crying. Perhaps she had once, when Athos had first shunned her, but since – there had been no point. Now, she let a lifetime of broken dreams, shallow promises and shattered illusions flow through her tears – perhaps this physical expulsion would give her some semblance of peace. As her sobbing eased, reluctantly she pulled away. She could not look up, however, the misery so heavy she feared she may collapse beneath its weight.

'Anne…' She did not let him finish, could not let him speak; whatever he had been about to say, she did not wish to hear it. Just the sound of his voice wrung her very being.

'England… that is where I will go. It needs to be some distance I think.' She looked up at last, and even in her misery she was beautiful. 'This will be the last time we meet Athos.' Her face was hard once more, no trace of love or desire. Cold and aloof. He nodded, acknowledging the necessity of her choice.

'You will take care. The English… well… they are not French.' He looked earnest and she wanted to laugh at the irony.

'_You_ want _me_ to take care. That is rather rich coming from the man whose hide I have followed from one disaster to another over the last few days.' She tilted her head and watched the familiar twitch of his lips that those who knew him well would recognise as a smile.

'Thank you, I…' She placed her finger on his lips and shook her head.

'Goodbye Athos.' Milady paused, and for one intense moment something flared in those green eyes. 'You do know I…' Then she faltered, and whatever she had been about to say remained unspoken, her nerve flying upon the gentle breeze. Turning abruptly, she mounted her horse and, without looking back, she urged her mount forward at a gallop. She did not want him to see the new tears that now coursed down her cheeks. The dam now breached, she feared they would never stop.

Another beginning, another country. But she would never forget.

That invisible thread may pull tight across the oceans, but it would never break.

ooOoo

Athos watched long after both horse and rider had disappeared from sight. Nobody bothered him or approached him, though they hovered close at hand, ready to deal with the aftermath of the fated couple's final parting.


	38. Epilogue

**Epilogue Nothing Breaks**

The wind coming off the sea was strong, billowing sails atop miniature ships in the distance, mere specks on the horizon, having long set sail upon the evening tide. The sun appeared overly large in the summer sky, suspended for one rapturous encore before taking her final bow. Though the day had been warm, clouds now gathered, holding in the humidity; golds and reds flickered upon the rippling expanse of ocean, creating the impression that it was ablaze.

The Musketeers had galloped into La Havre later than planned. They had ridden hard, but a broken cart – amongst other things – had delayed their arrival. Having embarked upon the mission with reluctance, there was no frustration or angst evident in their demeanours due to the lateness of the hour.

'It would appear we are too late.' Aramis quietly stated the obvious, as he stood upon the breakwater next to Athos.

The swordsman remained quiet, squinting to make out the tiny dots, as one by one they were consumed within the fire suffusing the horizon. Aramis waited patiently; they had come to take Milady de Winter back to Paris to explain the events that had occurred at Versailles. Treville had made his distaste with the King's orders quite clear, sending his men off with the secret hope they would fail.

The wind whipped the two men's hair across their faces, Aramis surreptitiously watching his friend to gauge his mood. Still they stood, though now there was nothing to see apart from the gulls swooping and crying high above the waves.

'We should go. Porthos has gone to seek lodgings for the night – the horses are not the only ones that are tired.' Aramis tried to keep his intonation light and placed his arm around Athos' shoulder, feeling the man stiffen beneath the gesture as he did so.

Aramis withdrew his hand and shook his head, 'This is for the best, for you and for her, you know that. If we had found her, what then?' He knew his friend was battling his feelings; Athos' relationship with his wife was far too complex to attempt to define his turmoil with one singular emotion.

'I am sorry it hurts, mon ami, I truly am.' Aramis' tone was genuine, his concern evident.

Eventually Athos turned, though he did so with reluctance, and the expression upon his handsome features was bleak, pain clear in his eyes. 'Something inside me is broken Aramis. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, it never changes, never diminishes, the darkness haunts my every moment. Why can I not move on?'

It was the closest Athos had ever come to sharing his feelings with the marksman, and hearing the words spoken aloud now, so desperate, so hopeless, was almost impossible to bear.

'It is understandable, mon ami. You have suffered much, endured terrible pain. You may have been beaten and brought low by men, but a woman is different. The pain women unleash is beyond any physical injury, beyond any damage that can be delivered by a sword or a bullet – for nothing breaks like a heart.'

Athos stared out across the glittering expanse once more then, with a final sigh, he withdrew from the ocean, leaving the gulls to mourn her passing alone.


End file.
